


Escapade - Larry Stylinson

by LHNameless



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 1990s, 90s, Adult Content, Autistic Louis Tomlinson, Crime, Criminal Harry Styles, Escapade, LGBT, LGBTQ Character, LHNameless, Liam Payne - Freeform, M/M, NSFW, Niall Horan - Freeform, One direction AU, Organized Crime, Rewrite, Smut, Zayn Malik - Freeform, larry - Freeform, larry stylinson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:49:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 45,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28550412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LHNameless/pseuds/LHNameless
Summary: The curious case of London's most wanted murderer, the brilliant mind of the boy in the Burberry coat, and how they became the greatest love story you'll ever hear.Set in 1990s London, rewrite of ESCAPADE (2014)/ written and illustrated by a published author/artist.Despite having no victim list, or any name to the photographs in the paper, Harry is feared by the world for being the only criminal who the police can't catch. Soon after another crime is committed, he finds a man named Louis, who doesn't understand danger when its staring him in the face. The murderer with the Raspberry Rose curls becomes deeply fascinated by his new discovery, and over time, Louis finds out who Harry really is.CW: Sex, crime (non-romanticised)For your comfort, other sensitive content is marked before and after each scene.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 43
Kudos: 173





	1. Escapade - Larry Stylinson

**Hello, my Darlings!**

Welcome to the new and superior Escapade to the one I wrote back in the Dinosaur Era of the internet.

The original is still really popular so I thought I'd make a rewrite and take away all of the parts that I never want to see again. I also got a degree in creative writing somewhere between the original fic and this one so the re-write has IMPROVED greatly.

If you read the original, this one has the same plot outline but it's been altered quite a bit, if you're new, then welcome, my Darling! Thank you for clicking!

**If you do read this book, please share/recommend this book on social medias and comment whenever you can!**

**I've put a lot of time into writing (and re-writing) this so I'd appreciate any response a lot, thank you!**

I hope you like it!

\- LHNameless

!P.S.: If you are here from the original Escapade I wrote, I pray to God that you prefer this one or else my 10K-a-year university degree will have gone to waste LOL, anyway, enjoy


	2. Boring People

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thank you for choosing to read this story!  
> I know it's hard to remember but please leave comments and vote if you like it! The story gets boosted as well so it helps me out a lot!  
> Thank you so much!
> 
> \- LHNameless

Police sirens were blaring to begin with.  
Louis watched the red and blue lights from his bedroom balcony. He saw them move from Baker’s street, to Saint George’s lane, then around the corner and back again. It was a re-occuring event that happened each night, long after everyone had gone to bed. Louis, however, had always struggled to sleep. At first, he’d been awake by chance when he’d heard the police sirens roar around his house; the night after, he’d woken up and heard them. The night after that, he’d listened out and there they had been; and this night, he was sat on his balcony, waiting.

He knew who they were after; everyone did. Every person in London has seen the news on the television or in the papers. The police were looking for London’s most wanted murderer, and Louis couldn’t believe how many times he’d heard them chase this so-called killer, and let him get away.

There were no names to the people this man had killed, nor faces or family or anything. It was a case that everyone knew, yet no one understood. And Louis, who claimed to never understand anything anyway, had found a deep interest in the subject.

"You’re up late." Louis’ brother said, slapping him on the shoulder with such force that Louis almost toppled over the edge of the balcony into his mother’s award-winning rosemary bushes.

His name was Liam and he looked nothing like Louis. They had the same mother, but not the same father, and while Louis was a scrawny-looking eighteen year old, Liam was six foot one and built like a tank. Louis’ clothes preference was shirts with trains on, and Liam wore heavy boots and biker jackets. Louis had one earring piercing that he'd made by accident, while Liam had seven. On top of that, he had tattoos up each arm, both legs, neck and torso. They truly had very little in common, which often lead to bickering where Louis would be favoured by both parents.

"When are they going to catch the murderer?" Louis asked, pointing at the blue and red lights in the distance.

Liam squinted at them. He needed glasses but denied it. "Dunno. Probably never."

"Aren’t you scared?" Louis asked, tapping his hand rhythmically on the balcony railing.

Liam rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and yawned. "He won’t kill us, if that’s what you’re implying."

"How do you know?"

"He dislikes boring people."

"I’m not boring."

"Oh? Then he might kill you."

Louis opened his mouth to reply, closed it when he realised that he’d dug himself intohole, and then said, "Why are you here? It’s three in the morning."

As if he’d forgotten his own purpose, Liam tugged at his beard for a moment before smiling. "Jail! I’m going to bail someone out. I need you to cover for me. If anyone asks where I am, say that I’m studying for university exams or something."

"You don’t go to university."

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don’t! You’re never there! You’re always with your friends, doing drugs and other gross stuff. You’ve been enrolled for two years, and I bet you’ve never even stepped foot into that place."

"So? I’m enrolled. My name’s on the register, that’s what’s important."

Louis frowned and sat on his deck chair, crossing his arms angrily. "You’re so lucky to be at university and you throw it all away. I hate you for that."

"You’ll be at university, too, next year."

Louis turned around, "I’m supposed to be there _this_ year! I’m fed up of school, I hate staying back a year. Adults don’t go to school. Why do I have to stay there?"

Liam sighed and leant on the railing. "I know school’s tough. It’s not made for people like you.. But you’ll do good at university! This last year gives you time to think about what you really want in life. You might find a new interest that you want to pursue. Criminology, for example."

"I’m going to do finance and business. I’m going to get a girlfriend and get married and have a big house with a dog and maids. That’s what mum and dad planned with me so I’ll do that."

Liam hummed in disapproval and stood up. "Well, please think about it. You struggle to learn things you aren’t interested in. Business and finance isn’t a good choice. Bye, Louis. Don’t stay up all night."

***

"Where were you yesterday?" Louis’ mother asked the next morning as Liam walked into the dining room, wearing nothing but a pair of obnoxiously bright yellow shorts.

"Huh?" Liam said, having clearly not processed anything since he woke up. Louis had never seen him look so rough. He sat down at the table and waved a hand at Louis before sighing and grabbing the milk by Louis’ plate. He poured a glass, and drank from the bottle.

Their mother, having lost all hope in her eldest son years ago, pushed a plate of toast towards him. She handed him a butter knife in a way that seemed more like a threat than the helpful gesture it was meant to be, and said; "Eat, please! Before I go completely insane!"

Liam tore a chunk from his toast and replied, "You always have an issue with me, what have I done, now?"

"You spend money that isn’t yours. That’s what you do! Drugs, bailing people out of places where they belong, buying designer clothes.. The list goes on! I love you but God help us! I’m done talking with you, Liam."

"You’re not talking, you’re shouting. By saying that you’re talking, also means that you’re lying. That’s an abomination to the Lord."

"Get a job, for Heaven’s sake! Please, Liam!"

Louis put on his ear defenders, and didn’t hear anything after that besides the rumbling of argument in the background. After a few minutes, the voices had raised so much that the family dog started barking and the twin babies in the cot upstairs were wailing her little shoes off. Louis left the kitchen and went back to his routine of cowering in his room until it was time to be dropped off at school.

His maid had laid out clothes for him on the bed, which he never understood as he was perfectly capable of opening a drawer and taking out a shirt, but he had poor fashion taste and the maids seemed to know what they were doing.

His clothes reflected his parents’ heavy bank accounts which he often got teased for. He wore Gucci and Prada and all of the other brands that he knew nothing about. His favourite, however, was a Burberry coat. He’d worn it down to the point where the sleeves were permanently stained and the padding was thinned. Every day, no matter the heat or whether, Louis Tomlinson wore his Burberry coat. When it was sent to the wash, it upset him.

*

"Oh, it’s that thing again." Louis heard as he got out of Liam’s car in front of the school gates. He turned around and saw Zayn standing with a girl over each arm and a cigarette in his mouth.

"What thing?" Louis asked, to which Zayn nodded towards the coat.

"Do you have nothing else to wear?"

"Of course, I do."

"Then by all means, get changed."

Zayn was Liam’s friend, also a university student, and also one who never showed up. He looked very much like a beanpole with a burgundy quiff and a studded leather jacket. He too was covered in tattoos and piercings to the point where only his face was fully shown. The palms of his hands were tattooed as well; his left reading _TRUTH_ in large black letters, and the right reading, _DARE_. None-the-less, he was probably one of the most handsome people Louis had ever come across.

"Are you ready?" Liam said to Zayn, locking the car behind him.

"Where are you going?" Louis asked.

"We have business to take care of." Zayn said.

"What business?"

"Just.. Like.. Some stuff."

Louis frowned, "What stuff? What have you done?"

Zayn shook his cigarette and pressed it into the ground. "You know.. Stuff that boring people do sometimes. Boring people things. You wouldn’t be interested.. But have a lovely day, won’t you..Lou? We’ll catch you later!"

With that, Louis watched them hastily get into Liam’s Lamborgini, slowly wind down the windows, argue about which station to play on the radio, and drive off down the road, hitting an unsuspecting pigeon on the way.

*

The day was incredibly long and incredibly draining. Louis spent the first half talking to his best friend, Niall, about his theories concerning London’s murderer, and the second half asleep over his desk at the back of the room. He’d had a break at lunchtime where his class bully, Dwain, and Dwain’s friends-but-not-really-friends had come to pester him about wearing a shirt that didn’t suit their own personal tastes. Louis always got bullied by them, and he never understood why. None of the reasons they stated made any sense to him, but that just lead him to explain his point of view which got him bullied even more. The cycle of unhappiness seemed endless at school, and he so desperately wanted to leave for good.

It was not much later in the evening, and Louis was pacing outside the bakery, soaking wet from the rain and ready to get into a car which wasn’t in the parking space as it was supposed to be.

"Where are you?! It’s raining so bad!" Louis shouted down the phone to his brother.

The line was unusually crackly, as if Liam was talking from a basement somewhere, but Louis managed to piece together the message that his brother was caught up on "something", and was unavailable to pick him up until further notice. He also understood that his own motorbike was waiting for him by the florist’s, which he found to be true.

By the time he reached the motorbike, the rain had calmed from a storm to a heavy patter. Louis sat on his bike and sighed. He listened to the water fall on the pavement and watched it form puddles until the sound of police sirens broke him out of his daydream.

He turned around and watched another motorbike speeding up the road behind him, followed by no less than six police cars. Was that the murderer? He didn’t think it was very likely, but he didn’t see it as impossible, either. Out of all things probable, it was quite high on the list. He began to daydream yet again the rain, and it lasted quite a while until he was jerked awake by a hand on his back.

Louis wasn’t given a chance to turn around, or to process the situation, as someone sat behind him on the motorbike. He heard sirens approach and the hand of the stanger behind him cover his mouth with a leather glove.

"Drive." A raspy voice said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> What did you think of the first chapter?  
> Of the characters?


	3. Raspberry Rose

Louis froze.

The sirens were getting closer and the rain seemed to fall much heavier than it was a few seconds ago. He heard everything much louder all of a sudden, which meant that the gold-plated gun brought up to nudge against his temple was very quickly the only thing he could understand.

It nudged once more, before being pulled away. The man behind Louis pressed his chest against Louis’ back and leant over to the handlebars of the bike.

"Fine. I’ll do it myself."

The bike hurtled forwards, narrowly missing a curb, and roared down the street with Louis still on it. His motorbike usually calmed him, only right now he felt as if nothing in the world could stop him from screaming his head off. The police cars were chasing after him, and the man pressed to his back seemed to lean more and more over as the speed increased. The bike skidded right over a round-a-bout, straight over a flight of steps, down a grassy bank and through a long tunnel leading to a man-made river below a bridge.

It was under this bridge that the man stopped the motorbike. The sirens were loud, and Louis’ ears were covered by his hands, yet as he tried to calm himself down, the police cars drove straight over the bridge, right past them.

Sheltered from the rain and light, the world suddenly became very quiet, and very soothing.

Louis sat up, shook his hands a few times to ground himself, and looked around. He could see the silhouette of a person beneath the bridge with him: A man, looking up at the road to make sure no one was chasing him. His hair seemed to be shoulder-length and curly, he wore a hoodie with a jacket on top, and he had long legs. That was all Louis could see.

Once the man had decided that he was safe, he turned to Louis and walked up to him. Once in front on the bike, he lifted an arm and pointed the gun to Louis’ forehead, Louis saw two initials on the plating, but it was too dark to read them.

The stranger didn’t shoot, nor did Louis speak, and so they stayed like that for a while.

"It’s not loaded, you know."

The voice sounded younger than it had earlier, probably because the man now spoke clearly. He put the gun in his jacket. Louis watched him take out a cigarette and lighter. The orange glow hit a now-visible face.

The man was young, perhaps a few years older than Louis, with a handsome face and pink hair.

He had wide green eyes that looked up at Louis.

Just as their gaze met, the man cried out and threw his lighter to the ground where it bounced and fell with a "plop" in the water. A string of curse words came out of the man’s mouth, followed by the sound of air blowing on a burnt finger.

Louis laughed.

It came very unexpectedly and stopped the stranger in his tracks. The man pulled a torch from his pocket and turned it on, shining it on Louis. The light stayed Louis was studied from head to toe, before being placed on the floor where they could both finally see each other clearly.

"Your hair is pink." Louis said, rocking from side to side.

"It's not pink! Why does everyone say that? It’s Raspberry Rose. I don’t have pink hair."

"It’s pink and purple."

"It’s raspberry rose with lavender tips." The man took out the gun and pointed it for the third time to Louis’ head. "I’ll shoot you."

Louis, who didn’t have time to process the situation, said, "Are you the murderer everyone is looking for?"

The man replied, "What?"  
He tapped the gun in his palm as if it were broken and looked back at Louis. His palms, like Zayn’s read were tattooed with large black letters, but his read 'JACK' on his right, and 'JILL' on his left, "Would you like to find out?"

The gun was pointed to Louis once more, yet Louis rocked side to side, which the man had trouble keeping up with so the weapon was yet again lowered and tucked into his jacket.

"You’re interesting." The man said. "If someone threw you into a pit of lions, you’d walk right up to them."

Louis stopped swaying and instead cracked his knuckles one by one. "No, I wouldn’t, they’d kill me. Did you know that lion cubs are spotty? Once I went to the zoo, and the females all had cubs. Also, lions sleep a lot."

The man leant against the wall and put another cigarette between his lips. He tapped his pockets for a lighter, then groaned.

"Are you autistic?" he asked abruptly, putting his cigarette back into his pocket.

"Why?" Louis asked.

"Just curious. I don’t mean anything by it."

"Oh.. Most people do. But yes. Sorry."

The man looked at him and put his hands in his pockets. "What are you apologising for?"

Louis didn’t in fact know what he was saying sorry about, and the man could tell. Louis leant back as the stranger got up from the wall and walked over to him. He put his hands on the bike handles and leant over the vehicle until he was almost nose to nose with Louis.

"We’re not friends." He said.

Louis blinked a few times, "I know that."

"Then unless you want to stick around forever—which, trust me, you really don’t—you need to tell me your name and where you live."

The man stood up straight and tapped his shoe on the floor. Louis looked at the water, becoming rapidly hypnotised by a dead rat floating calmly on the surface. It was lying on its back, and although dead, seemed to be having quite a nice time.

A hand come out between them and waved. "Hey. Name. What’s your name?"

"Jill? Oh. Louis.My name’s Louis Tomlinson." Louis said. "I’m eighteen. I live on King Henry’s street. Number seven with the statue of Winston Churchill by the gate."

"Finally." The man said. He scooted Louis to the back and the bike and sat in front of him.

"Are you kidnapping me? Please don’t." Louis said as the engine turned on. "My dog will be sad. His name is Lilly."

"That’s a girl name."

"Lilly’s a male."

The stranger, who couldn’t be bothered with the rest of the conversation, said, "I’m not kidnapping you. I’m taking you home. Hold on."

He drove the bike through the bridge and up the grassy bank.

"Hold on, Louis." He said again, harsher than the time before.

It was dark outside, and Louis preferred it that way. He always enjoyed looking at street lamps and how the light reflected in the puddles. There was something very calming about it, especially when he was in a car or on a motorbike. Right now, there were plenty of other vehicles around them, as if the man driving the bike was trying to hide among the crowds—which, looking back on past events—was probably the case.

"Home." The man said after a long while. He stopped the bike outside of the huge brass gates and swung his leg over it. He looked at Louis who was in somewhat of a daze from daydreaming for so long.

"Don’t tell anyone where you’ve been. Don’t tell them who you saw."

"I don’t know who I saw. I don’t know your name." Louis said.

"Then it’s all fine. Stick to the lies, they’re much better than the truth; I promise you that."

The stranger tucked his hair behind his ear and nodded briefly to Louis. He began to walk away, back down the street, pulling his hook up so no one could see how his dyed hair shone beneath the street lamps. Louis watched him leave, then stop.

Suddenly, he turned around, gun pointing to Louis. Louis heard it click.

He sat there, on the bike, with the gun pointed to him again. He rocked gently back and forth, he felt as if something was wrong, but couldn’t place it among all of the other unusual events that had happened that day. Nothing was as it usually was, and it made everything else seem like a big blur of mess.

The man put the gun away. He hummed as if he’d heard the answers to a question he’d never asked.

"As long as the handcuffs stay off of my wrists, I’ll see you again. Good evening, Louis."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading up until now!  
> What do you think?
> 
> Again, votes and comments are appreciated, as are mentioning the fic on social media. Thank you!!  
> \- LHNameless


	4. Raisin Cookies

The night came and passed, just as the before it and the one after, and Louis stuck to his new routine of sitting outside to wait for the police cars.

Yet again, on the fourth evening since his encounter with—who he’d eventually processed to be—London’s murderer; Louis was sat on his deck chair in the cold with a hot chocolate by his side.

He had a thick scrapbook full of the articles on his lap. His parents had helped him collect bits of news from the papers, and blurry pictures of the same man Louis had met, yet none of them were good enough to identify him. They were all blurry pictures of a person in black with brightly dyed hair; nothing more. His name was never stated either, nor was his age, date of birth, family, or anything else. The only identity he had was the title of "Murderer", and in the grand scheme of things—it didn’t have much meaning.

Louis certainly hadn’t died. After thinking back on the situation, he knew that he should’ve been scared as most others in his place would be, but he didn’t understand why. It was often like that. Louis felt fear, but couldn’t pick out what was dangerous and what wasn’t.

When he was four, he’d jumped off a slide, with terrified both of his parents and caused a large commotion in the park. When he was thirteen, he’d fallen off a boat in a lake, to which everyone on board had been incredibly loud and worried for his wellbeing. Last year, he’d built a small rocket in his back-garden out of papier-maché and fire-crackers. Liam had got incredibly angry when it turned into a bonfire right in front of his little brother.

The police cars were approaching King Henry’s Street. Louis could see the red and blue lights on the walls of other houses. He watched them get closer and closer until a motorbike sped past with a hooded man on, chased by seven cars this time. It seemed as if each night, the police became more desperate. Louis thought they’d be more strategic by this time; more knowledgable perhaps, but apparently not.

As Louis fell into a daydream where he was a policeman, and how he’d do a much better job than the real police were doing, a loud cracking noise erupted on the opposite side of the balcony.

Louis peaked around the corner of his chair and saw nothing out of the ordinary. He walked over to where the sound had come from and peered over the edge of the balcony. Vines crawled up the wall between his balcony and the next one along, and below were the perfect rosemary bushes in their perfectly perfect condition.

"Hello?" Louis asked into the void. "Oh, a squirrel! Hello! Come here!"

Indeed, on the grass below sat a very plump grey squirrel, looking up at Louis curiously.

"Come." Louis said, clicking his fingers. "Look, what’s this? Are you hungry?"

He took out a bag of cookies from his pocket and shook them. The squirrel, in return, twitched its nose and ran away into the nearby hedge.

"Oh.."

He felt a huge wave of disappointment in his inability to tame the squirrel; so much so that he put his food away, folded his deck chair, and refused to go outside until the next morning.

He walked blindly through his dark bedroom until he met his bed which he flopped onto with a sigh. He lay there for a few moments, wondering if he could find the squirrel, if the squirrel had a family, and if the squirrel got cold at night. His thoughts wandered around the bright valleys in his mind for a long time until he found his way out. At long last, he was back in his room where he sat up and turned the bedside lamp on.

As light flooded the room, Louis’ heart almost lept out of his chest when he saw a man sitting on the black sofa in the corner.

"Ew— Why are you there?!" He shouted before covering his mouth with his hand.

He heard a rustle of bedsheets in the next room along as Liam stirred in his sleep. It settled quickly.

Louis’ heart continued to race when the man on the sofa pulled down his hood and waved at him with a tattooed hand that read 'JACK'. He was holding a bottle of milk on his lap, which he opened and took a long drink of before saying,

"Cookies. Are they chocolate?"

Louis blinked at him for a moment before taking the packet out of his pocket to look at them. "Raisin."

The man uncrossed his legs and crossed them the other way. He had two lip-rings in, both on the left side of his lower lip, that he chewed on before saying,  
"Disgusting."

"Oh.. I think so, too." Louis lied, putting them in his bedside table drawer. "Where did you get that milk from?"

"The fridge."

Louis nodded slowly. "You’re not supposed to be here." he said.

"Why? Where am I supposed to be?" replied the man, drinking the last of the milk from the bottle.

Louis didn’t quite know how to respond to such a direct question, so he rephrased his sentence as, "For many reasons, it makes no sense for you to be here."

"I need to see you. You’re here. It makes sense to me." The man said, waggling a finger at Louis.

He had a piercing stare—Louis had noticed it as soon as they’d looked at each other beneath the bridge. It wasn’t a good kind of piercing, but more of the kind that made the person who was being looked at feel as if they were being stripped bare and eaten alive. It was quite intimidating.

"What do you want to see me for?" Louis asked. "Also, how did you get in here? And how come I just saw you on your bike when you’ve been here the entire time?"

The man tilted his head like a curious dog would do, and stood up. He walked up to the bed and took Louis’ face in his hand. He turned Louis face from side to side in an inspecting manner.

"Curiosity killed the cat." He said, tapping Louis’ nose.

"What? What cat?" Louis said, clearly enjoying the feeling of the man’s warm hand on his face. He leant into it, and prove the man’s point.

"You. Don’t ask questions, just accept things as they are." The man said, letting go. "You like animals, don’t you? Come with me. You’ll enjoy the night."

"Come with you where? Are you going to kill me?"

"Ah—don’t ask questions. Put some shoes on."

"No. Where are we going?"

The man looked at Louis for a moment and clicked his tongue. "Somewhere quiet, just us. You’ll enjoy yourself, I promise."

Louis still wasn’t fond of the answer, but he understood that the only way to find out where he was going was to actually go, and so he put his shoes and Burberry coat on. The man, by this time, was standing by the balcony. Louis watched him hook a leg over the railing, then another. He gripped the vines by the side of the house and began to climb down, jumping over the rosemary bushes once he reached the bottom. He looked up and waved to Louis.

"Come, Louis."

Louis looked at the vines, then to the man who nodded encouragingly, then back to the vines again.

"What if I fall?" Louis said.

"You’ll ruin the rosemary bushes." The man replied.

Louis swallowed and clambered over the railing. He hooked his fingers in the vines and jumped. His feet caught in the gaps, and he began his descent down the side of the wall. It was surprisingly easy, he thought, and made buzzes of joy run through him. He reached the bottom in less than a minute, jumped up and down for a second, cracked his knuckles, and then looked to the man who waited patiently in the shadows.

"You should do it more often, it’s far quicker than stairs. Better sensory experience."

"Ah—yes." Louis said, putting his hands in his pockets.

The man walked past him, beckoning him to follow. "Stim, if you need to; only do it quietly."

By the large brass gates where they had first parted ways, London’s murderer turned around to face the eighteen year old waiting behind him. He tucked his raspberry rose curls behind his ear and smiled,

"Now.. Are you ready for adventure?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> I hope you liked this chapter!!  
> What are your thoughts?
> 
> \- LHNameless


	5. H.S.

The black Harley Davidson roared down Queen Victoria Street with the murderer driving and Louis sitting rather dangerously behind him. Louis quite enjoyed being on the bike, particularly when he wasn’t driving. He enjoyed turning around and looking at the buildings get smaller and smaller in the distance, and the smoke that rose from the road where the bike had passed. He enjoyed less how each time he sank into a daydream, the man with raspberry rose curls would call his name sharply and tell him to "hold on".

The drive was long, and after being told to 'hold on' more times than he could count, Louis quickly became irritated with being on the motorbike. It didn’t help that each time he’d let go of the man in front, the bike had slow down. Louis desperately needed to get off the vehicle, and the more he thought about it, the more he could feel how irritated his body was. He needed to stretch his legs and shake his entire body; it was becoming painful not to.

"I want to get off." He said, digging his fingers in the man’s sides.

"Very soon."

"No, I need to get off, now. Let me off!"

"Soon, I said."

Louis couldn’t wait that long. He felt so uncomfortable that rocking back and forth on the bike became the only option he had to not go insane from being still for so long. As he did so, the bike wavered to the side, and the man grabbed his thigh.

"Sit still, Louis." He said, far harsher than anything other warnings he’d given.

"I have to get off!" Louis said, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs. "Let me off or I’ll get off myself!"

The man, finally cooperative with Louis request, slowed the motorbike down and parked it at the side of the long and empty road, beneath one of the few street-lamps. The road was sheltered by two old brick factories, closed for the night. Louis practically jumped off the bike and ran up to the nearest wall. He hit it with the side of his fist, then flapped his hands and jumped up and down a few times. His whole body was buzzing with the need to get some form of stimulation, to the point where he knew that if he’d stayed any longer on the bike, he’d have had a meltdown.

The man with raspberry rose hair pulled down his hood and leant on the bike, folding his arms and watching Louis. Louis glared back angrily before turning around and stamping his feet on the dusty ground.

"I want to go home."

The murderer lit a cigarette and crossed his ankles. "That’s the last thing you want. You’ll be on the bike even longer, then." He said, "Have a run around. Run to the bins at the end of the alleyway and back, you’ll feel better."

Louis looked to where the man gestured at the bins that were full the brim with bags, scraps of metal and loose food waste.

"Gross, no. I’d rather die than go over there."

The man shrugged, "It’s not as if I’m asking you to roll around in it. I’ll come with you, if you’re so afraid of a bit of filth that you won’t go by yourself."

"Where am I? Where I’m from, it’s clean. None of that gross stuff." Louis said, continuously stamping his feet on the floor and wringing his hands.

"You’re in the wealthy area of London, that’s why. Privileged, that’s what you are."

The man tossed his cigarette on the ground and stamped on it with a black leather boot. "There’s a week’s worth of meals in those bins for some. I would know, I met them."

Louis, upon being attacked so largely for such a small comment, stormed off in the direction of the bins, stopped a few feet away, and looked back at the man by his bike. The man waved a hand at him to move forward.

"Well? Go on then, to the end." He said, the deep voice echoing off of the walls around them.

Louis grunted and walked up to the bins, quickly turned once he reached them, and ran back.

"Are you ready to go?" the man asked, getting back on his bike. "Only a short drive, now."

Louis looked at him for a moment. The man’s hair reflected in the street-lamps, making his face glow a warm tint of rose. Black liner circled his waterline, that Louis had only just noticed, smudging ever so slightly in a way that made his facial features very attractive. Louis nodded slowly, and the man smiled.

"Come, then. Louis."

* * *

A short drive, it was. They parked less than five minutes later in a small carpark tucked away behind an Indian restaurant, wandered down a bank that wasn’t made for walking, and dropped onto the concrete slope surrounding an industrial river that snaked its way behind what seemed like a prison wall. The bottom of the slope—which Louis had no idea how to get back up—gave way to about a foot of flat concrete surface before meeting the murky brown water beside it. It was the surface that both men landed on, and where the murderer with raspberry rose curls took a gun from his pocket.

"Hold this." He said to Louis, handing it to him as if he knew Louis would refuse. "Don’t touch the trigger."

By force, Louis took the gun, holding it at arms length while the man continued to rummage in his pockets. The gun was gold plated, with brass trims and silver lettering on the side reading 'H.B.'

"Is that your name?" Louis asked.

"What is?" The man asked, emptying his pockets. He had a keys with a dried rose keyring on, a stray chicken nugget that he grimaced at before throwing into the water, a penknife with what Louis desperately hoped wasn’t blood on, and a flip-phone with a housekey on the end.

"Is your name 'H.B.'?" Louis said, squinting at the letters.

"That says 'H.S.', but otherwise, yes."

"What does it stand for?"

"I won’t tell you that."

The man put his belongings back in his pocket, took the gun, and turned around. He walked down the concrete platform, beneath a large bridge. At the top of the slope was the prison-like wall. A ladder led up the side of the slope to a concrete drain pipe which, at that moment, was oozing some kind of green slime.

"Well, up we go." He said to Louis, patting him on the shoulder before stepping onto the ladder.

"Up there? Why?"

"I wish you’d stop asking questions. You’re very nosy."

The man walked up the ladder, and Louis followed on behind. He wasn’t sure how to climb it, as the slope was to flat to use it as a normal ladder, yet too steep to not use it at all. The murderer seemed to have done it plent of times before, as he used each bar as a hook to keep him from slipping back.

They reached the top where the huge concrete tunnel was waiting eerily, and the man peered into it. He found a torch in his pocket and shone a light through the pipe. When the light faded into the darkness without reaching the end, the man hummed disapprovingly. He looked to Louis expectantly. Louis, who didn’t pick up on what the man wanted, gave a blank look back.

"Go in it. I’ll follow you."

"What?"

"Again, you’re asking questions. Go in the pipe."

Louis looked into the pipe and sighed. He looked down at his Burberry coat; it wasn’t clean but by any means, it wasn’t dirty either. If he went in there, he’d have to wash it, and if he had to wash it, he wouldn’t be able to wear it which was bad.

The man’s hand came out to his face and lifted it. They looked at each other for a moment as the murderer studied Louis face with those eyes that stripped him bare.

"Take it off." The man said quietly.

Louis knew he meant the coat, but he spoke in such a way and with such a face that goosebumps went through Louis’ entire body.

Louis nodded and took his coat off. Beneath it, he wore a cherry red jumper with a train on. The man’s hand came out to take the coat from him.

"Go. I’ll keep your coat clean. You can take it back at the end of the tunnel."

This time, Louis nodded and climbed into the concrete pipe. It was quite large in diameter, where he could sitt up comfortably but not stand, meaning that the green slime was soaking his knees and touching his hands, and overall making his skin crawl.

The man was following on behind him through the pipe, tapping on the ceiling for reasons that Louis didn’t know or want to ask. He’d realised that out of all of the questions he’d asked, almost none had received a reply.

The answer, however, he found out soon after as the echoing 'bong' sounds turned into a 'clang' as man’s hand hit a metal plate.

"Ah!" the man shouted, his voice echoing around the pipe. He began to dig around in his pocket and pull out something that clinked against the metal as he used it. Finally, he pushed the plate up and to the side, and light poured into the pipe.

"Come!" The man said, smiling properly for the first time since they’d met. He stood up and climbed out of the manhole, putting a hand down for Louis to follow.

Once they were on solid ground again, Louis put his clean coat on as the murderer placed the cover back over the manhole.

"Look around, Louis. Do you know where this is?"

Louis looked around. He was stood on the inside of the large prison wall. This side, unlike the other, was painted with bright yellows, blues, and greens. He stood on a pebbled path, winding its way among freshly cut grass. He could see a signpost reading lots of different words, and pointing up each path ahead. It was last that he saw perhaps the most obvious feature—a large enclosure with a shallow pool at one end, and trees and rocks at the other.

"The zoo!" Louis said, jumping up and down.

"Hey, quiet!" the man hushed, tapping his lips with a finger. "At daytime, animals are in the human world, but this is night-time at the zoo. We’re in the animal kingdom, now. Don’t disturb their peace."

Louis put a hand on his mouth and nodded.

"Good boy. Come."

The man took Louis by the wrist, and in silence they walked down the path, past the signposts, and straight on. Hey walked past all the empty cages of animals who were locked in their pens, past the monkey enclosure, the goat-petting pen, and past the hippos who were sleeping like two large, glistening rocks in their pool.

They finally reached the bird enclosure. The birds weren’t tucked away, nor were they asleep. Louis watched them fly from one side of the enclosure to the other. They were black, with white markings and pointed wings. As Louis watched them fly back and forth, he couldn’t help but believe that they wanted to get out. They didn’t fly like most birds he’d seen. They took off, only to position their bodies for landing again. There was no flight involved. It became quite sad to look at.

"Do you see it?" The man said by Louis side. He was leaning on the railing and looking up at the birds with the same eyes Louis had. "These birds migrate. They belong to Africa. Each year, they travel to warm climates to give birth and raise the young. After that, they all fly back to where they belong, until the year after where they repeat it all over again."

Louis looked at the birds. "They must be sad, here."

"Mn." The man said, "Marvellous creatures, really. No matter what happens, they always seem to make it back to the exact same nest each year."

He sighed and stood up.

"Well, it’s now or never." He said, suddenly leaping over the railing and walking up to the wire enclosure. Before Louis could process the situation, he’d taken out a pair of pliers from his seemingly bottom-less pockets, and had cut a large hole in the enclosure.

It took less than a minute for the birds to find it, and less than a second for them to fly out into the night.

The man jumped back over the railing where Louis stood with his mouth open, looking up to the last place where he saw the birds before they’d vanished forever.

"What did you do that for? They’ll die. They’ll get eaten."

The man flicked Louis’ ear. "Don’t be silly. Wild animals are wild animals. They know how to survive." He said, "I doubt they’ll all make it back to Africa, but many will."

With that, he waved a hand at the sky and took out a yellow post-it note from his pocket. He scribbled the words ' _Innocent until proven guilty_ ' on it, and stuck the not on a piece of wire sticking out of the open gap.

He put the pen away and retrieved a can of red spray-paint from the same pocket.

"Where are fitting all of these things?" Louis asked, pointing at the can, "How did that fit in your coat? You keep doing this, where’s it all coming from? You’re like Mary Poppins, I don’t understand."

The man laughed and ruffled Louis hair. He proceeded to spray paint a large 'H' on the ground.

"What’s that for?"

"The police. So they know who did the crime. They’re not very bright people."

Louis nodded slowly. "Uh—" he said, "So.."

He tried to formulate a sentence a few more times before finally settling with, "How are you not in prison for murder yet?"

"Luck." The man said, taking Louis by the wrist and guiding him back down the path. "I know the right people to get me out. I’m not who the world says I am."

"Who are you then?"

"Depends on who you ask. I could me be a bastard, a cheater, a liar, some might say serial killer and mass murderer. The question isn’t who I am, it’s who am I to you?"

Louis looked at him. The man tucked his hair behind his ear and smiled a little. He was sad, Louis could feel it, and it made him sad as well.

"I think.. I mean, I like you." Louis said, cracking his knuckles. "You haven’t judged me for anything yet, so.. that makes you nicer than most people I’ve met."

The man looked back at him, a little surprised. He pressed his lips together and then turned away. "I like you." He said, "I know a lot of people but, uh, I don’t have any friends but you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAH—
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you like the story so far!! If you do, please share it or let me know, I'd be happy to know what you think,  
> Thank you!!  
> \- LHNameless


	6. Zoo-Keeper

Louis stopped walking down the path. The murderer with Raspberry Rose curls continued on for a few more steps until he realise he wasn’t being followed. He stopped as well and turned around.

"What’s wrong?" he asked, seeing how Louis was cracking his knuckles with somewhat of an unreadable expression. It was somewhere between overwhelmed and either happy or sad.

"Why did you say that?" Louis asked, "That I’m your friend?"

"Is friendship a great secret?" the man asked back. He walked up to Louis and looked down at him, tilting his head curiously. "Let me take a guess. Tell me if I’m right."

Louis looked up at him with his wide blue eyes and the man said, "You like having friends, but you don’t like making them. Is that right?"

Louis nodded. The man smiled and ruffled Louis’ hair again.

"Me, too." He said. "I grew up in a little village. I don’t know what I was doing wrong but people have been calling me strange ever since I can remember. I didn’t get bullied, just avoided. I had one friend, that’s all."

"People think I’m strange, too." Louis said in reassurance.

The man smiled at him. "People think you’re strange because they don’t understand how you think. If they understood, they’d see that you’re completely and utterly normal."

"Oh.." Louis said. "I’m not boring, am I? I’d much rather be strange than boring."

"Oh, no." The man denied, shaking his head. He put his hand on the base of Louis’ back and guided him down the path. "There’s a lot of words people can use for you. Some words, I find, are ones that can only be used for you. Boring is the furthest away from that. There’s nothing dull about a man who doesn’t process danger when its right in front of him."

They reached the end of the path and found themselves by the entrance where they’d started. The man put a finger to his lips and guided Louis behind the greenery by the wall. They sat on the grass, facing each other. It felt very intimate, Louis thought, and the man smelt incredibly sweet.. Like a musky, flowery type of scent.. He didn’t know anything about flowers, but he enjoyed the smell nonetheless.

"Hey, wakey-wakey, Louis."

Louis blinked a few times and came back to earth. "I am awake."

"Did you see the security building? The one attached to the gift shop?" the man asked, to which Louis nodded.

"In there is the park-keeper on his night shift. He’s supposed to guard this place and make sure no one breaks in to steal the lions or what-not. His wife divorced him two years ago and his kids have grown up and gone to university. In 1978, he did a hit-and-run. An eight year old girl died and her mother suffered severe injuries to the spine; he was never caught. He drinks very heavily on weekends which means that when he drops asleep, he’s _dead_ asleep."

"Okay.."

"He’s got a ring of keys tied to his belt. We need to go in there and get them."

"Why?" Louis asked, to which the man tutted.

"No questions, remember? Do you want to come? If not, stay here and dig a hole about three inches deep, and five inches wide."

"With my hands?"

"Yes, Louis. With your hands. I don’t have a spade."

"I wouldn’t be surprised if you did.."

"Well, I don’t. Dig with your hands, right here." The man said, tapping the soil between them.

Louis made a face of disgust and stood up. "No way. I hate having mess on my hands." He said, "I’m coming with you."

"You sure?" the man asked, looking Louis up and down before standing up as well. "Alright then."

The walked quietly up the high rectangle window on the wall of the entrance building. The man tapped his lips and pointed to it.

"He’s on the other side of the wall."

He turned to an empty bin and tipped it upside down. Louis watched him stand on it and peer through the window.

"Gross, he’s dribbling in his sleep."

He clicked the window and slid it up, fastening it in place. Louis sat on the ground, observing as the man lifted himself up with only his arms, to then crawl through the window, and land almost silently on the other side. Louis waited. He listened and heard nothing. Absolutely nothing. After no less than a minute, the man walked out of the door behind Louis and made him jump.

"Oh.. I’m sorry." The murderer said, locking the door. He walked up the window, and locked that one too. After that, he closed the shutters and locked them, before going back to the door again and closing the sliding grid; locking it.

"Why are you locking him in?" Louis asked. "What if he needs the toilet?"

"He’s got an empty glass in there, he’ll be fine. Once morning comes, there’ll be a whole load of people fighting to get him out. Cops, firemen… he’ll have the whole lot. What a waste of everyone’s time."

They stood there for a moment. Louis waiting patiently and the murder slipping into some deep thought before blinking and turning away from the building. "Come. Bury the keys."

He took Louis by the hand and walked back to the bushes, sitting criss-cross on the ground behind them, with Louis sat before him, rocking back and forth. Louis cracked his knuckles while the murderer dug a hole—three inches deep, five inches wide—and put the keys in them, covering them with soil again. On the patch of soil, he put a sticky note, reading,

> 'Maddy Kettle, age 8’

Over the top, in red ink, was the word 'GUILTY'

The man clapped the dirt off of his hands and nodded in satisfaction at the note placed carefully on the mound of soil. He stood up, putting a hand out to Louis. Louis took it and got to his feet.

"Now where?" he asked.

The man smiled at him. "Now, we walk one last time around the park before I take you home. You can look at the animals while I check the security cameras."

Louis smiled widely, "Really?" he said, "Wicked!"

And so, in the late hours of the night, the boy in the Burberry coat and the murderer with Raspberry Rose hair wandered around an empty zoo together, talking about everything and nothing in particular. The murderer stopped from time to time to paint a line on a tree trunk, or a dot on a wall, or other patterns that Louis couldn’t understand. It took them an hour and a half together, where Louis had said everything he knew about trains and goldfish, and the man had listened to every word; until they finally made it back to the entrance where the keeper in the building was still fast asleep.

They stood by the manhole where they’d first appeared from and the murderer smiled.

"Don’t miss it." He said,

"Miss what?"

"The grand finale, of course."

He pointed back to the park, and Louis looked.

Louis’ mouth fell open when he saw what had happened to those obscure red spray-paint marks.

The lines had formed writing, like artwork that could only be read if the perspective was right.

On the trees and the buildings and the ground, all placed perfectly with where Louis stood, were painted the words 'GOOD GUYS GET CAUGHT'

"Woah—" Louis said, "That’s.. wicked."

The man smiled at Louis who couldn’t bring himself to look away, and ruffled his hair.

"Come." he said, "Let’s get you home."

* * *

The boy in the Burberry coat and the murderer with Raspberry Rose hair stood alone oun the bedroom balcony. Louis looked to the vines he’d just climbed up, and a sudden wave of sadness washed through him.

"Upset?" The murderer asked. His eyeliner had smudged beneath his eyes and his hair was messed up from the wind. He had the same lonely expression as Louis, but Louis couldn’t read it.

"No." Louis said, unconvincingly.

"Happy, then?"

"No."

The man smiled. It was definitely a different smile to the ones previously, but how, Louis didn’t know.

"So.. Um, bye, I guess." Louis said, waving a hand to the man.He hesitated and cracked his knuckles, unsure of what he was supposed to do, before turning to the double doors that waited for him.

"Wait—"

A hand grabbed his hand and Louis was pulled around. The force almost sent them both toppling over the balcony, but the gold-plated gun was pressed to Louis’ forehead held him back.

They stood like that for a moment. The murderer leaning back with his hand holding Louis’ and the other holding a gun at his head. Louis watched him, surprised, but this time he processed exactly what was happening.

He leant into the gun and laughed.

The murderer, in return, smiled as well—just the slightest bit—before turning his face away. He lowered the gun and put it in his coat.

"Boring people." He said. "How could you possibly be one of them?"

* * *

A few minutes after the man had left, Louis was lying in his bed, waiting for the grandfather clock in the livingroom to strike five. He’d always loved it, every since he was little. There had been a time when each hour, he’d sat in front of it to watch the pendulum swing back and forth and the chimes within to play.

He looked at his phone. It read 5:01.

He got out of bed and walked down the dark corridor, down the dark stairs, into the dark living room and over to the clock. He turned the lamp on. The clock had stopped, as had the brass pendulum and cogs within it.

Louis opened the glass face and poked the pendulum. He swung it manually a few times, but it didn’t make a noise besides a low clunk. He put his hand behind it and his hand touched something. He tugged on it and pulled out a sticky note.

> Escape from the Cities and Run.
> 
> Yours Faithfully, Harry Styles.


	7. Death by a Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!!! Thank you for reading up until now!  
> You can find this re-write on Wattpad as well as AO3 now, if you'd prefer that site!
> 
> Please comment, leave kudos and follow if you enjoy this story! It'd help me out a lot, thank you!

Louis sat on the picnic tables outside of his school, eating a sandwich with a variety of fillings, none of which were acceptable together.

Liam was somewhere in the carpark opposite, trying desperately to parallel park his car into a gap too small for it. Louis had told him before that he’d been banned from the property since he himself was a student, but that only caused Liam to feel a need for rebellion. He now spent a large amount of time outside the gates, smoking and doing all of the things that had got him banned for life in the first place. The students were quite afraid of him and his friends, and Louis had definitely heard false rumours about his brother, one of which was that he was after the school girls. He wasn’t, and in fact, had his own girlfriend who happened to be older than him by two years.

Zayn, however—who st by Louis’ side—was also banned from the premises for life, and encouraged strongly by the police to not step foot on the street itself.

The latter had no interest in children certainly, much like Liam, but he had interests in many other things which he didn't like to mention yet everyone knew about nonetheless. He'd been through an interesting sexual endeavour during his school years—one that had cut him off from his family—and that was where the matter was left.

"I haven't slept.. since Tuesday." Zayn said, peering out to the void while he smoked his blunt. "That's quite a while ago."

"Yeah that's.. A really long time ago." Louis replied, "Why not?"

"Tough world. No time to sleep. If you sleep, you die."

"I don't. Once, I slept for fourteen hours."

Zayn turned to smile at Louis before looking at the ground in a dejected manner. "Lucky bastard."

There was a short silence, briefly interrupted by Liam yelling from his car window that he was going to find elsewhere to park. After a moment where the on-growing silence began to weigh on them, Louis said,

"Why do you die if you sleep? If you stay awake too long, you die as well."

"Mn." Zayn said mournfully, "Given the options, I'd prefer the slow death of sleep-deprivation, rather than the alternative."

"Which is?"

"Death by a friend."

Louis waited for the next part of the conversation, but no more came. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, re-played the sentence in his mind a few times, and finally said, "Huh?"

"I have this friend, you'd get along quite well." Zayn said. Louis had observed that sleep-deprived people had a tendency to stare into nothingness, which Zayn was doing, but he wasn’t out of it. Louis could feel that he was stuck in some cold and vivid memory, and couldn’t snap himself out of it.

"This friend," the man continued, "he's a good man. A bit misunderstood, like you, a bit eccentric; did ballet once. Told me he wanted to be a poet.. He grew up and got himself into big trouble. He's made a name for himself, that's for sure."

Louis looked at Zayn. There was something about what Zayn was saying that sparked something in him. A tiny flame, and it burned a little.

"Why.. So why will he kill you? Good people don't kill." Louis said,

"Good people can hold a gun just like a bad person can. It's who they point it at that makes the difference."

"And would he point it at you? You haven't done anything." Louis said, "Unless you have. You’re a bit sus' sometimes. I wouldn’t be surprised if you murdered someone."

Zayn’s face turned to Louis sharply before relaxing and going back to the ground.

"That's why I'm awake. If I go to sleep—as much as I want to—I'll get killed by my friend."

Louis was still processing the last sentence when Liam showed up and pulled Zayn to his feet.

"I've got a phone call from a buddy. We need to go. Are you okay on your own, Louis?"

Louis peered at them, hearing only inaudible slur from his brother's mouth, when he too was pulled to his feet and held firmly by the shoulders.

"Are you okay, Louis? Do you need me to help you with something?"

"What?" Louis said, blinking, "Oh, no, I'm okay. I was just.. I don’t know. I think I'll go home. Eat some spagetti hoops or something."

Liam smiled and clicked his tongue, patting Louis on the shoulder. "Good. That's okay, then."

They then nodded at one another, with Liam telling Louis to drive safely and all other pointless things that Louis couldn't see the sense in saying; before parting ways.

* * *

Louis arrived home safely as instructed, ate the world's largest portion of spaghetti hoops, and had a long nap in the bath before going to bed. By this time, Liam had returned, looking far more dishevelled than when he'd left. He was very quiet, which Louis had observed to be a re-occuring trait about his brother. No one else seemed to have noticed, but they also didn't seem to notice how Liam was more on edge, checking his phone more often, and generally acting just the faintest bit more strange.

Louis had noticed, he always did, and he couldn't help but feel that tiny flame in the pit of his stomach burn a little more with each thought.

It was as he was lying in bed, pondering about his brother, that a hand came out through the darkness and grabbed him by the arm. Louis jumped so much that he almost fell out of bed, when a pair of arms wrapped around him.

" _Shh—shush, shut up, why are you so noisy?!_ " A voice whispered into his ear. "Calm, Louis."

Louis recognised the voice and immediately relaxed in the pair of arms. He was still shaking a little and cracking his knuckles, so the murderer with Raspberry Rose curls tightened his grip and rocked him back and forth for a moment. No one had ever done that to Louis before, besides his mother when he got upset. It felt very strange, yet very, very nice.

"Better?"

Louis nodded, before remembering that the murderer couldn't see him.

"Better.", he said back.

The man let go and Louis wriggled back to the warm spot in his bed. The murderer was nothing but a silhouette against the balcony doors a few feet behind him, but the flow of messy curls was calming in a ' _I'm glad the person to break into my room and grab me was you rather than anyone else_ ' kind of way.

"You're not supposed to be here." Louis whispered loudly.

"Why? Where am I supposed to be?"

Louis ignored the sense of deja-vu, and proceeded to say, "Your name is Harry Styles, isn't it?"

"One and only."

Louis smiled. "Oh.. nice. Do I call you Harry?"

"If you like."

"I do."

"Very well, then." Harry replied. "But don’t say the name to anyone else. Ever. Can you do that?"

"I can."

"You won’t forget?"

Louis paused for a moment, "No." He said, in the most uncertain voice he’d ever heard.

"Hm. Well, try your best." Harry told him.

He reached out through the dark to touch Louis' face. Louis could see his hand coming towards him, and reached out as well. He held the man's wrist in both hands, and moved it to his cheek. Harry waited patiently as Louis leant his face on it, probably because he liked the cold temperature.

Harry smiled at him, and tickled his face. "You're a sweetheart, Louis."

Louis dropped his hand, "Ah—what? No, don't say that."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I feel weird when you say it."

Louis cracked his knuckles. Harry, who'd been sat on the edge of the bed, turned his face to look out of the double doors, before shifting back on the mattress until he was by Louis' side, facing him.

"Did you like the other day?" Harry asked. He spoke somewhere between normal volume and a whisper, which sent shivers down Louis' spine.

Louis nodded back, which Harry saw.

"You'd go out with me again, if you had the chance?"

Louis nodded once more.

"Would you like to go now?"

Louis cracked his knuckles and rocked gently back and forth in the darkness. "Why?"

He didn’t receive a response for a moment. Harry looked down and stroked his hand up and down the bump in the mattress where Louis' thigh was. Louis swallowed, and Harry said,

"I've had a bad day. I need to some good in the world."

His hand moved up Louis' thigh, and continued up Louis' stomach, chest, collarbones, and up to Louis' cheek.

"Do you want to come?"

Louis nodded slowly, then nodded again more confidently. "Yes."

He could feel that Harry was still thinking about his day, and so he added, "Do you want a hug?"

The murderer looked at him, paused, and held his arms out. Louis crawled out of the duvet and over to him. It was a known fact that Louis didn't really understand physical attention, as his idea of a hug was to lean on the person's chest and get squeezed by them, but Harry had guessed that already.

London’s most wanted murderer squeezed and cradled the boy for a while in the dark, as Louis leant on his chest and played with a Raspberry Rose and lavender curl by twirling it around his finger. He could feel the atmosphere become more peaceful as Harry grew calmer.

In the garden, crickets were chirping, and a plump squirrel was hopping between the prize winning mulberry bushes in search of something to eat. The wind blew softly over the grass that swayed like rippling waves. Far in the distance, a nightingale sang.

The world that was often too much for Louis was so quiet and reassuring at night. Right now, it was calmer than ever before.

"Come." Harry whispered into his ear. "It’s time to go."

* * *

The wind had picked up by the time Harry and Louis reached the large doors to the closed Shopping Centre. Harry had parked his motorbike a few streets down, once more in an empty carpark, and they’d gone by foot from there. By this time, the wind was bothering Louis. It whistled around his ears and made his limbs numb. He covered his ears with his hands and looked at Harry desperately. Harry looked back through the dim lights, frowned in concern, then waved a finger at Louis to follow him. They walked around the back of the Shopping Centre, through the tiniest gap between the tall glass building and a brick wall, until they reached the other side where old stock was thrown out and a thick rusted back-door awaited. There was no wind in the small area, so Harry took Louis’ hands and lowered them.

"Better?"

"Better."

Harry smiled and nodded before turning to the door. He pulled a black hair pin from his hair, and picked the lock.

"That won’t work. It only works in films." Louis said, before watching Harry heave the door open. The man looked back and raised an eyebrow at him smugly.

"Don’t tell me what is and isn’t possible."

Through the door was a dusty—and very spider-friendly—corridor, with a door at the other end. Harry picked the lock again, and opened it with ease. Through this door was the Shopping Centre where Louis had been hundreds of times before, except that this time was different.

It was dark, only the exit and emergency lights glowing, and the large silver moon slipping through the glass windows to glow on the tiles and walls. The individual shops had their security shutters down, and Louis found it over-all very eerie. It was a ghost-town.

"Okay, listen to me very carefully, Louis." Harry said, taking Louis by the shoulders. His voice echoed in the empty hall. "Do not, under any circumstance, walk directly in front of the doors of the shops with see-though security shutters. Do not touch anything. Hands in pockets, okay?"

Louis nodded, and put his hands in his pockets.

Harry took one of Louis’ hands back out of his pocket, and held it in his. "In half an hour, security is going to sweep the shopping centre for thieves or whoever. They aren’t here yet. We need to hide, so they don’t find us."

"Where?" Louis asked.

Harry smiled and turned away. Louis followed on with little choice, as Harry was still holding his hand in his. He wore rings, one was a silver rose, the other was a band with bears engraved into it. Louis quite liked them.

They took a winding yet calculated path through the mall to avoid cameras and alarms, finally reaching a large store that was extended onto the main building and didn’t have doors.

Harry walked up to the entrance, stopping before the anti-theft gates. He tutted and walked to the one on the far left, slipping between it and the wall.

"Pathetic, truly." He said, shrugging. He beckoned Louis to follow, and Louis did.

They walked together through the clothing aisles, the gift aisles—to which Harry had to pry Louis away from licking the scented candles—past the sofas and beds and up the escalators to the changing rooms.

"Sit." Harry said, pointing to a bench. Louis did as he was told as Harry began looking in each changing room, before deciding that the one at the far end was to his liking. Louis walked up to it, and said "What’s the difference between this one and the others?"

Harry ushered him in it and closed the door, leaving it unlocked.

He turned on a torch and pointed it to a metal grid on the wall. "This is the part," he said, "where we climb in the vent."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find this story on Wattpad as well as AO3!
> 
> See you next chapter!


	8. Hunting Ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains smut/NSFW
> 
> Please vote, comment and share if you are enjoying this book. I take a lot of time to write it so I'd appreciate the support, thank you, and have fun reading!  
> PS. Reminder that this book is on Wattpad as well so you can choose which app to read on!

Louis looked at the vent, then to Harry, then to the vent again.

"I don’t fit in there."

Harry smiled. He turned around excitedly and pushed the stool beneath the vent. He climbed on it and, with his hairpin, unscrewed the metal grid. He slipped the grid through the vent and then, without any other warning, jumped up and crawled through the open gap. Louis listened to him bang around in the dark for a few moments, before shining the torch through the gap.

"You’ll fit." He said, putting a hand out.

Louis looked at him. Harry nodded.

"You want me to go in a vent?" Louis asked.

"It’s warm. Your fingers will warm up."

Louis climbed onto the stool and tugged the belt on his Burberry coat tighter. He crawled through the vent, narrowly avoiding bumping his head when Harry quickly moved his hand between Louis’ face and the wall. After a few moment of turning around and figuring out where he was, Louis settled, and Harry pushed the stool away, placing the grid back in front of the opening.

The vent was just about tall enough for Louis to sit up. If he stretched his back a little, his head touched the ceiling. Harry had to bend over.

London’s murderer took out his phone and flipped it open. "Twenty seconds." He said, as if he already knew that. He looked at Louis, "Silent." He said, rather harshly. "Dead silent."

The torch went out, and Louis waited. He could hear voices, not too far but not near enough to make out words; both male, and both were approaching.

"They found another one, you know, Jerry! Huh? Yeah, right down Saint Barnaby Street!"

The footsteps of the speaker grew louder as the man approached the changing rooms. Louis could hear him clearly now. Far too clearly for the situation he was in.

"A girl again!" The man shouted, "Hey? Oh, no, they don’t know her. Never seen her before. No one has!"

The man was now in the changing rooms. Louis could hear each door open with a creak and bang closed.

The disruption neared the back room, and Louis felt a wave of excitement flow over him. Harry grabbed his hands suddenly in one of his, pinning them to Louis’ lap. The security guard opened the door. Light flooded the small room and the gaps in the vents. It poured between Harry and Louis, to which Louis looked at the murderer opposite, and he was smiling.

"You what?!" the security guard asked, leaning out of the door where his torch still shone. A voice in the distance spoke, and the guard replied "No, well you saw it in the papers, didn’t you?! These people are appearing out of nowhere! The cops don’t know who they bloody are. The aliens could’ve spat them out for all they bloody know!"

Harry’s grip tightened on Louis’ hand, and the light faded.

They listened to the men walk away until they were just murmurs in the distance once more. Harry let go of Louis and let out a small sigh. When his own torch lit up, Louis found that he was no longer smiling.

"Come. Stretch your legs."

He pushed the grid and jumped down from the vent, helping Louis shortly after. The grid was placed over the front of the vent and screwed on just as it had previously been.

"Now what?" Louis asked, sitting criss-cross on the floor, despite the bench right beside him.

"Now, we wait until they leave. About an hour."

"Oh.. What a long time."

Harry looked at Louis. The torch light twinkled in his eyes, making him both far more handsome and far more intimidating than Louis had ever seen. His face was carved out by deep shadows, and a dimple on his cheek appeared when he smiled.

He walked over to Louis and crouched beside him. There was something about London’s most wanted murderer that Louis couldn’t quite understand.

The man acted like a leader of a pack. Wherever he went, he held his head up, with a smouldering smile on his face as if he always knew more than anyone else. In any place he went, that place conformed to him. Harry was a Leader with an army behind him, but there was no army that Louis could see, and that was what confused him so much.

"You think too much." Harry said. "And you’re always right."

"How do you know what I’m thinking?"

Harry tilted his head. "The way you stare. I can tell exactly what what’s going on in your head."

"Guess what I’m thinking now."

"That I’m really close to you."

"Oh.. Yes, actually."

"Does it bother you?" Harry asked. He had that look of power in his eyes, and in a room as dark as this one, Louis found it quite unnerving.

"Not really." He said truthfully. "It’s cosy. It’s like we’re in a sauna together. Only there’s no steam. Oh, and we’re fully dressed. And it’s dark and cold.. I don’t really like small talk."

Harry smiled and sat down fully. He rested his arms on his knees and looked at Louis.

"Fine." He said. "I’ll gladly sit in silence for an hour with nothing to say or do."

Louis couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, but Harry knew that as he added, "We’re stuck in here. What would you normally do at this hour?"

"Uh—" Louis said, a sudden flow of memories passing through his mind. He couldn’t possibly say what he did at this hour. He felt quite offended at being asked such a question when the answer was so personal, so he turned his back on Harry and began to trace the small crevices in the paint of the wall with his finger.

"I’m a man, too, you know."

Louis turned his face to the side. Harry didn’t say any more. He turned back, continuing to trace over the crevices, when Harry’s hand touched the back of his neck and squeezed gently. Most people would hate the feeling of someone touching their neck, but Louis adored it. He tilted his head back and giggled a little, cracking his knuckles until Harry had guided him back around so they were facing each other once more.

Harry looked quite different to how he’d looked thirty seconds before. It wasn’t his appearance, so much as his mood. The grip on Louis’ neck was moving up to brush through his hair, and Harry’s other hand had come out to rest on Louis’ knee, his finger tapping almost impatiently.

Those green eyes had grown darker, the light in them still bright and twinkling as he looked at Louis.

Very rapidly, Louis had gone from a friend to prey in a hunting ground. It was those eyes that did it. They devoured him from the inside out, lingered over every part of his body until he felt like there was no way out.

Harry’s hand moved up Louis’ leg, slowly testing the waters to see how far it could go. The hand stopped right at the top of Louis’ thigh.

Louis’ blue eyes that were watching the hand intently, darted up to Harry’s face.

Fearless. He was always fearless.

His legs parted a little more, and the hand moved between them.

Louis kept his eyes on Harry, with very little expression, and the King of Crime read his thoughts like they were written right in front of his face.

Harry’s right hand continued to massage the back of Louis’ head, while the other pushed his legs apart a little more. It moved over the hardening bump in the jeans, softly at first, slowly, then just the slightest bit firmer. Louis’ expression didn’t change, seemingly unresponsive, but his hips bucked forward every so faintly now and again.

The bump in his jeans was now quite stiff as he’d never let anyone else touch it. Harry saw his expression change at last, shifting from subtle curiosity to discomfort.

"Do you want to take them off?" he asked. Still, Louis’ face didn’t change when he nodded, and it was only when he moved to push down his jeans and underwear that he looked away from Harry.

He was fully hard, and when pushing down his underwear, Harry could see a soft glisten of white fluid on Louis’ skin. He reached out, and touched it. Louis whimpered and bent over himself as a reflex, to which Harry pulled his hand away, a string of pale liquid following his finger. Louis sat up and bucked his hips out forwards. He did it a few more times, pushing his hips into the air in search of touch. Harry reached out, and touched him again. This time, Louis didn’t back away, but pushed his hips up though the hand around him. He did so multiple times, giving himself the pleasure he would’ve otherwise given himself at home. Harry’s hand was warm, and his fingers rubbed in all of the right places.

Louis’ own hand slipped beneath his shirt and pulled it up, touching his collarbones beneath it, then his chest.

Harry, by this time, had become quite restless, and seeing how much Louis was enjoying himself made him jealous. He pushed the shirt up further, gripping onto it as his mouth came to suck on Louis’ chest. Louis flicked his hips repeatedly into Harry’s hand, as Harry licked and kissed around his left nipple, all while undoing his own jeans. He was almost as hard as Louis was, eager to be touched just as much.

He gave himself what he wanted, moaning into Louis chest while Louis gripped onto his curls.

He decided then, that he couldn’t hold back any longer, and pulled away from Louis who whimpered sadly in return like some lost puppy.

Harry shuffled away, down to Louis’ feet, and pulled them so Louis was lying down instead of sitting against the wall. He took Louis’ shoes off, then removed his jeans and underwear fully. He then did the same to himself, and crawled on top of the other man.

Louis looked up at him, big blue eyes full of curiosity. There was no fear there, even though this was foreign to him; no sense of danger or reason to be insecure. He was just unapologetically himself.

Harry tilted his head, moving the curls from his face, and brought his hand up to show Louis a small bottle of lubricant. Louis looked at it, opened it, smelt it then licked the cap. He smiled when he realised it tasted like strawberries.

"Happy?"

Louis nodded eagerly. 

Harry smiled at him, laughing a little. He kissed Louis’ neck, nipping it gently, then moved down to his chest, pushing the shirt away to kiss and lick wherever he could. Louis was a very sensitive person, and enjoyed sensory touches, and so with each kiss and touch on his nipples, he became more and more aroused. Harry continued to move down, past Louis’ belly button and down some more until he was where he wanted to be. Louis had a sweet face and a nice body, although slightly underweight and pale from his poor diet. The area Harry reached was also sweet-looking. It was quite small—but so was Louis—with soft hair, and a pink tip that was leaking and dripping onto Louis’ stomach. Harry licked around the base. He took the whole thing in his mouth, cleaning up the mess as Louis whined and shivered in response. Louis’ hands gripped onto Harry’s hair, so much that it hurt.

Harry groaned deeply in his throat, which Louis felt as he shuddered again. He whined some more when Harry pulled back to lick the base, trailing up the shaft to the soft tip. He had a way with his tongue that was almost unbearable. Whether it was Louis’ sensory differences, or just that Harry knew exactly how much touch Louis wanted, he was always given just the slightest bit more. It felt over-stimulating, but not so much as it was a bad feeling. It was the exact amount of over-stimulation to make Louis cry and fall apart in the changing room.

He wriggled and flicked his hips, pinned down by Harry’s hands, as he was sucked on, nipped, licked, and everything else that felt like Heaven.

After a moment, Harry pulled away. He sat up, his own manhood dripping at the tip, drizzling down to Louis’ thigh. Harry watched Louis as he poured the cold lubricant into his hand. He then pushed Louis legs up, pining them to Louis’ chest at the knees, and dripped the lubricant over the hole between Louis’ legs.

The hole was pink and pulsating, begging desperately to be filled. Harry pushed two fingers in and Louis moaned. He curved his fingers and quickly found the spot that made Louis melt right beneath him. The man was crying real tears, now, shivering and whimpering on the floor of the changing room without any other care in the world.

Harry smiled, and took his fingers out, filling Louis soon after with something much more rewarding. It went in smoothly, quickly, causing Louis’ cries to become even more uncontrolled. He whimpered desperately as Harry rocked his hips, hands grabbing anything he could get his hands on, mostly Harry’s hair. Harry moaned, too, pinning Louis’ knees up and leaning over him with all of his weight.

The muscles on his arms and back flexed when he moved, and Louis reached out to touch, only to collapse again from lack of control.

It wasn’t long after that Louis lost it completely, touching himself as Harry pounded quite violently into him. Trails of white splattered over his stomach and chest, making Harry do the same in him. It warmed his insides, and felt ever so good.

His hole was still twitching when the murderer pulled away, large amounts of semen dripping out, and by the looks of things, the changing room floor wasn't the only thing in that room that had been made a mess of.


	9. Land of the Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading up until now!  
> Please comment and share if you like this book!
> 
> Active readers are what get the updates posted faster as well so I'd appreciate it, thank you!
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> Again, you can find this book on ao3 or Wattpad, whichever you prefer!

"I’ve never done that before." Louis said.

Harry and he had been sitting quietly in the darkness for the past ten minutes. Louis had dressed himself and was tying the laces of his bright yellow converses, and Harry was in the opposite corner, playing with the torch light by tracing the borders of each wall with it.

"I had a teacher once when I was eight—he was so handsome." Louis continued, "I think he played football or something, I don’t really remember, but I thought I was in love with him."

"Bit old for you, wasn’t he?" Harry said.

"He was in his thirties, probably." Louis replied, "Everyone thought he was handsome, even all of the other boys. One day, the teacher didn’t show up, and at the time, we didn’t know why. He got replaced after that."

"Where was he?"

"Well, I was taken to the police station with my mum, and this nice policeman gave me a lollipop and asked me some questions about the teacher. I was still baby Louis, so I wasn’t very helpful." Louis laughed and shifted to tie the laces on the other shoe. "Anyway, a girl who was at the school had started saying things about him to her parents. She didn’t understand what she was saying, but it turns out he was a pedophile."

"That’s disgusting." Harry said, putting the torch down. "I know it’s hard to speak up, but if he knew he was a pedophile, he should’ve got therapy or some sort of help. It’s a disgusting move to act upon it instead."

Harry looked at Louis, then to Louis shoes, and stood up. He walked over and knelt in front of him. "What are you doing? You’re getting in a mess."

"I can’t see the laces, it’s too dark."

Harry took Louis’ hands and moved them. Louis watched as Harry untied the triple knot Louis had made, to tie the laces quickly and properly straight after. He stood up again and tucked his raspberry rose hair behind his ear.

"All sorted? Comfortable?"

Louis smiled, tucked the bottom of his trousers into his rainbow socks, and stood up as well. "All done."

Harry looked at his phone and nodded. "Good. Now we can go out. See how well we passed the time! You didn’t get bored or upset."

He tickled Louis chin and Louis laughed.

Together, they made sure everything was how they had left it, and walked out of the changing rooms into the main shop. It was once more darker than before as some of the lights that were previously on were now completely off. It felt colder as well, which made Louis shiver.

"Cold?" Harry asked, skipping back down the escalator with Louis following on behind. "What a better place to find you a jumper than the shopping centre."

They wandered through the clothing aisle, to a long rack of brightly patterned knitted jumpers. Harry picked one up and showed it to Louis. It was red with a yellow collar and cuffs, and a large knitted picture of The Gruffalo on it.

"How about this one? It’s nice."

Louis poked it, then stroked his finger on it before taking his coat off. He put the jumper over his head and looked at Harry for approval. Harry nodded.

"Suits you well, Louis. Do you like it?"

Louis nodded. Harry smiled and put his hand inside the jumper. He felt around for a moment , much to Louis’ confusion, and found the price tag.

"Come. Put your coat on."

He pulled the tag out and walked back to the entrance. Louis watched him place the tag by one of the tills with a stack of cash on top of it. He then rummaged in the drawer and found some scissors which he used to cut the rest of the labels off of the jumper. Once he’d thrown them into the bin, he put a hand to Louis’ face to make sure it was warm, and smiled.

"Orlando." He said.

Louis blinked at him. "Huh? What?"

"I’d like to go." Harry said, turning around and walking out of the shop.

Louis paused, and then hurried on after him. The alarms, this time, didn’t ring.

"Have you ever been to Orlando?" Harry asked as they walked down an escalator, "I knew someone who was born there. She was very special to me. She liked horses, you know. She had a white one with a black foot called ’Carrots’. Funny really—the horse hated carrots. Anyway, one day my friend found her horse had been mauled to death by hunting dogs. She couldn’t bear it. The death affected her health greatly, and less than a month later, she died too."

"Oh.. I’m sorry." Louis said. Harry nodded sadly and shrugged.

"It’s sad. Animals mean a lot to people. Sometimes, they mean more to people than people do. It was the case for her."

"I like animals more than people." Louis said, taking Harry’s hand when it was put out to him. "My dog, Lilly, he’s my best friend at home. He kind of old, now, though. He’s my favourite. Sometimes, when everyone’s asleep, I go to his basket and sit with him. He listens to me talk about the stuff I’m interested in."

"What are you interested in?" Harry asked, turning sharply around a corner.

"Right now, I like criminology. Otherwise, I like music. I know every musical instrument ever. I also like clocks. I have a Grandfather clock; you saw it."

Harry nodded and turned another corner to reach the entrance of the building.

Grid shutters were pulled across the large glass doors, and outside, street-lamps were shining. It was raining heavily out there, pattering in large drops on the ground and pooling in every crevice or dip in the road.

"Wow, wicked—look at the rain!" Louis said, running up to the doors. Harry quickly grabbed him by the belt of his coat and pulled him back.

"Stay." He said sharply. "Stay in the shadows. Don’t go to the door, someone might see you."

Louis seemed rather sad that he’d been told off, so Harry shook his head sympathetically and lead him to a temporary stall that was standing a few feet away. The stall was locked up, but by its side was a toddler’s paddling pool filled with pingpong balls. Beside it, was a red letter box with the words, 'POST ENTRIES HERE!’, written on it.

"We need to count them."

"Why?" Louis asked, watching Harry sit by the pool.

"I already told you—I want to go to Orlando."

Louis sat down while Harry began taking out ping-pong balls and setting them into piles of ten.

"What’s this got to do with Orlando?"

"The contest is to guess how many there are, and if you’re correct, you win a trip to Orlando."

Louis nodded, "Ohhh—" he said, "You’re cheating."

"I know I am. I’ll never win otherwise, look how many there are. No one can possibly guess."

"Isn’t that the point?"

"Yes, help me. If you do, I’ll send you a post card."

Louis—who’d never received a post-card—began to put the balls into small piles of ten as well. They sat together like that for a while, counting the balls and trying to get them to stay in their respective piles. After a long silence and a series of various daydreams, Louis asked,

"Do you have a family?"

"Of course, I do." Harry said, as if he’d given any evidence to having one beforehand.

"Then, can I ask you a question?" Louis said back.

"No."

"Do your family know you’re wanted for murder?"

"I said 'no', Louis."

"Because, I feel as if my parents wouldn’t be very happy about it. Also, who did you murder? And why? Also, how come you’re not in prison?"

Harry slammed the golf ball onto the floor, denting it, and looked at Louis with the scariest look Louis had ever been given. There was a sharpness in his stare that pierced right through Louis, so much so that he could feel it burn into him. For the first time since they had met, London’s most wanted murderer looked like he wanted to kill.

Louis smiled, "Oh, I’m sorry." He looked at his hands for a few moments. "Did I upset you? Are you sad?"

Harry didn’t reply. He’d gone back to counting the golf balls, clearly ignoring Louis.

Louis watched him sadly for a moment, before crawling over.

"I’m really sorry." He said, tilting his face to meet Harry’s gaze. "I really am, with cherries on top."

Harry looked up slowly and met Louis’ eyes. His expression was cold, as if drained from any emotion, but behind those green eyes rimmed in makeup, Louis saw regret.

Whether it be a story from Harry’s past, or one from now, it had deeply scarred him; to the point, maybe, where he didn’t feel anything anymore.

Louis, still crouching, put his hands out to lean his elbows on his lap. He took Harry’s face and rubbed his thumbs along Harry’s cheeks just like he’d do when he’d step on his dog’s tail. He wasn’t sure how to make a person smile, but his dog always took the apology.

And by the way Harry’s head dipped down and he laughed just the tiniest bit, Louis knew that it had worked here too.

It was right after, just as Louis finally smiled again, that a loud bang shattered the glass doors. One by one they fell in a row, shards skidding across the tiles and hitting the two men sat on the floor. Tiny pieces hit Louis’ skin and drew blood, a larger piece bouncing off another and striking him on the right cheek. On the other side of the glass were policemen with guns and tasers, shouting at them to get on the ground while they opened the security shutters. They had Alsatians with them on harnesses, growling and snarling at Harry and Louis.

Harry stood up instantly and dragged Louis to his feet, pulling him behind the stall as the police fired a rubber bullet at them.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, inspecting Louis’ face quickly. Louis nodded, more surprised than anything else.

"Listen, Louis, I don’t go by the rules. Rules get you caught, but right now—we need to run."

And with that, Harry grabbed Louis’ wrist and tugged him harshly. They ran up the escalator, police screaming and shouting behind them, unlocking the huge shutters. Louis’ heart was pounding in his chest as Harry pulled him along. Another rubber bullet shot past his ear and burst through the plaster wall ahead. It was only then, Louis realised, that he was in trouble.

He sped up, and so did Harry. One of the dogs was panting somewhere behind them, growling and barking, and as they dodged around a corner on the top floor, Louis saw how close it was getting.

"Harry!—" he cried out, to which Harry tugged him closer.

They were running towards the large glass wall ahead—the one that hung over the road below, and Louis couldn’t understand where they were supposed to go after. It was a dead end—no door or windows, or anywhere to hide from a dog that was close on their tail.

The police had caught up, too close to safely use the bullets now. They were shouting still, but in the haze of it all, Louis could no longer process words or a situation. He couldn’t understand what was a voice or what was a noise; where he was, or what was happening. All he could do was to continue what he’d started, and that was to run as fast as he could with London’s most wanted murderer.

Harry shouted something, and a dog growled. It was then that they reached the wall. In a split second, as the dog’s jaws were closing ever so close to Louis’ ankle, that Louis was pulled into a tight embrace.

Harry had spun around by the glass wall, gun pointed to the dog. Holding Louis tightly, he pushed himself back and they broke through the glass. Shards once more were sent flying around them, stopping the police in their tracks. Harry was holding Louis with one arm, and the other was on the gun. He’d shot it, and as glass flew through the air, so did the silver bullet.

Just before they fell, Louis heard a horrible cry. It was a loud whining whimper, followed by silence; and his heart sank when he realised what the bullet had hit.

*

They fell, and Louis was held tightly in Harry’s arms. Neither of them opened their eyes, nor did they scream as the dark road approached them at a horribly fast speed. Louis couldn’t process fast enough, and Harry—in the wonderful and curious way that that mind of his worked—already knew what would happen.

They hit a large trailer filled to brim with straw as a lorry going to a local farm drove along the road.

The screaming of policemen faded out. Harry continued to hold Louis in the pile of straw, his heart beating so heavily that Louis could feel it thump against his hand. He could then feel the straw beneath him, could hear the gentle rumble of the engine, and could understand what had happened.

"Are you hurt?" Harry asked quietly.

Louis pulled himself in closer and shook his head. "Only a bit." He said.

Harry hugged him tighter and rubbed his hand over Louis’ back in circular motions.

They stayed like that for a long, long time. Long enough for Louis to avoid a meltdown that they could both feel coming, and long enough for London’s city lights to fade out and be replaced by a vast sky of silver stars.

Harry sat up at long last. The lorry was driving down an endless road with grassy meadows on each side and country hills in the distance. There was no rain here, nor clouds or harsh wind. The night was quiet, and ever so beautiful.

Louis sat up as well, cracking his knuckles and rocking gently back and forth. His face had stopped bleeding, but Harry took it in his hand and patted it with a tissue nonetheless.

"Ow—" Louis said, to which Harry shushed him calmly.

"It’ll be okay, soon." He said.

Out of his pockets, Harry took out a plaster and stuck it on Louis’ right cheek. He then paused, looking at Louis sadly,

"I didn’t want to kill tonight. And I definitely didn’t want you to see it."

Louis watched back with those sky blue eyes of his. He put a hand on Harry’s wrist, thinking, before turning away to look at the sky. He studied it for a while, scanning every star he could see until he pointed at one of them.

"The dog is there." He said, "The star that’s twinkling in between those three others. Look how bright he is."

Harry looked, and he saw the star among the billions of others. It was, as Louis said, the brightest one.

"The dog is happy. The journey hurt, but he’s so very happy."

Louis was smiling at the sky, as if the words he said were ones he truly believed, and for a brief moment—Harry did, too.

"Do you know what?" Louis said, turning to the man by his side. He had a face like Heaven in the moonlight, and with a smile like that, how could anyone be hurt?

"What?" Harry said back.

"The dead make our galaxies. They make the skies and the oceans and the grass for us. Do you see how many stars there are up there? Isn’t it beautiful?"

Harry looked, and Louis said, "The dead built this land, and they leave their souls in the stars to protect it."

"You really believe that?" Harry asked quietly.

Louis looked at him and nodded. "I really do."


	10. Teddy Bear

"So, what now?" Louis asked, buying himself in the hole he’d dug in the straw. He was buried up to his hips, and he quite liked it.

Harry—who was building a small tower from the straw, tucked his hair behind his ear. The lorry was driving down vast open fields, and as there was nothing to block its way, the breeze on the trailer was quite strong.

"Now.." Harry said, "Now, we live on this pile of straw forever and ever, just you and me."

"Forever and ever is a very long time." Louis said. "What about Lilly?"

"He’ll find you. Dogs always come back for their favourite person."

"How would you know if I’m Lilly’s favourite? He can’t tell you."

Harry looked at Louis briefly before going back to his tower of straw. "Look at you—messy hair, cute little nose, the sweetest personality, and you’ve got a nice new jumper. Who wouldn’t choose you as their favourite?"

Louis patted the straw on his lap and tilted his head. "I get bullied sometimes. I don’t think I’m most people’s favourite."

"Oh? At the very least, you’re mine."

Louis seemed rather taken aback by Harry’s response as his head shot up quickly and his mouth opened just the slightest bit. Harry smiled and crawled over to him, sitting by his side so they were facing each other.

"I’m sorry for nearly causing you to have a meltdown." He said, "The police turning up wasn’t supposed to happen. Someone saw us at the window when we went to see the rain. I’m sorry."

"Oh…" Louis said, joining in with Harry’s sympathy, "It’s okay. I didn’t have a meltdown. I nearly did, but I didn’t. I just got overloaded for a bit."

"How so?"

"Sometimes, I don’t realise it’s happening." Louis said, tapping his cheek thoughtfully, "It’s like everything happens at once. Sometimes, I feel as if when I speak, everyone else is speaking at the same time even though they aren’t. When the police were shouting and there were dogs, guns and all, plus we were running—that’s too much."

Harry nodded understandingly and smiled at Louis. He lifted the hand with the word 'JILL' written on it, and brushed Louis' hair from his face.

"How do you feel now?" he asked.

"I’m happy now. It’s dark and I like the breeze."

"Good. That’s good." Harry said, "Will you still be happy if I tell you that we need to get off the truck? You can’t stay in your straw burrow forever."

"Oh.. That makes me sadder, but I’m still four-out-of-five stars happy."

"That’s a lot of happy for one little person."

The lorry turned a corner, up a farm road and came to a stop. Louis looked away from Harry to the surroundings he’d been ignoring for quite some time. Ahead was a barn where he could hear the rustling of cows and sheep. Behind was the road that split into two lanes—one they had just come up, and the other that lead to a small, warmly-lit village.

Harry crawled over the straw to the ladder by the side of the trailer. He waited for the farmer to get out of the lorry and wander over to the barn before beckoning Louis over.

"That’s old Mister Newitt." He said, climbing down and jumping onto the grass below. Louis did the same, landing unsteadily by Harry’s side. "Grumbles a lot. He had a twin brother once but a farming machine fell on him. Lost his legs and his right arm. He got an infection and died a year later. Old Mister Newitt’s been alone ever since."

Harry shrugged pitifully, tilting his head like a puppy before taking Louis’ hand and leading him out of the farm. They walked quietly up the road together, appreciating the night and the bugs flying around the street-lamps. Louis appreciated all of the night bugs, and stopped every few steps to look at a moth, or a slug or a snail or whatever else he could find out in the countryside. Harry let him do so, and the walk that would have otherwise been a five minute job turned very quickly into a half an hour hike.

At last, they reached a cottage among a cluster of many others. Thick vines and greenery crawled up the walls and surrounded the wooden-framed windows. In the garden were strawberry bushes, daffodils, and budding flowers that hadn’t yet blossomed. Past the creaking white gate that they walked through were stepping stones leading to a small curved door with the number ’18’ written on it.

Harry rummaged through his pocket and found a ring of many keys. It took the thickest and oldest one to open the thick and old door.

Harry walked in and Louis followed, closing the door behind him.

"Shoes. Take them off. No muddy footprints on the cream carpet." Harry said, kicking his own shoes off to place them on a rack by the door. There were many other shoes there, all the same style as the ones he wore. There were no others, so Louis guessed he lived alone.

They hung their coats up and Harry guided Louis through the house.

"Left by the door is the lounge. Right by the door is the kitchen. Ahead, past the stairs, is a toilet." Harry said, before marching Louis up the creaking staircase to the very small landing at the top. "Left is my bedroom, the door in front of you is the messy room that I avoid at all costs, and the room to your right is a bathroom. Now, we’re going to the bedroom because it’s very, very late."

He pushed Louis through the bedroom door and closed it behind him. Harry’s house had a cosy feel to it, with very little space to move, very low ceilings and doorways, yet it was still quite spacious where it needed to be. It was the kind of cottage where the white wooden doors had latches rather than handles. There was a lot of Scottish tartan patterns in his home, either on pillows or as thick quilts draped over the furniture, and a lot of 'grandma' type objects like the obnoxiously large dressing table or the floral curtains in every room. The bed, as well, was just the slightest bit too big for the tiny white bedroom, and went from one wall to the other, leaving the foot of it free for the door and a few knick-knacks. It looked like the house that the three bears would live in, and Louis like that.

Harry groaned when he saw the bed and rushed up to it as if they were old friends. As he jumped onto the quilt-covered mattress, he pulled his shirt off so when he landed, he was almost ready to sleep.

Louis looked at him. Harry lay on the bed with his eyes closed, arms draped above his head, and raspberry rose and violet curls splayed around his face. He breathed calmly, his chest raising up and down, muscles on his stomach flexing each time he did so. He had tattoos on his body as well. They were well done—various ships and mermaids and animals drawn on either arm, leaving an equal gap in between each piece. Across the side of his stomach and up his chest was a large dragon with a tiger’s head. Harry looked ever so handsome, and Louis hadn’t had the proper opportunity to look at him like this.

His tattoos, hair, heavy black makeup around each eye and the two lip rings on the left side of his mouth gave him quite a rugged look when out of his bundle of clothes. The more Louis looked, the higher up his attractive scale Harry ranked. When the man extended his arms out to Louis—biceps flexing—he surpassed Zayn to reach first place in Louis’ mind.

"Come here." Harry said when no one approached. He flicked his hands in a beckoning motion, still lying somewhat asleep on the bed, and Louis snapped out of his daydream to do as he was told.

He walked over to Harry and stopped right in front of him. Harry felt his presence and reached out. He grabbed the belt loops in Louis’ trousers and pulled his body on top of him like a blanket, the whole while with his eyes closed.

Louis was squeezed like a very large teddy bear. Harry’s hand was stroking his head calmly, and that was the touch to make Louis relax.

"I suppose that I won’t be going to Orlando." Harry mumbled. "I so desperately wanted to get away from here."

Pressed against Harry’s chest, hearts beating one against the other, Louis could feel how painful the truth was. Harry’s heartbeat was twisted, strings pulling tightly in his ribcage. The beating echoed hollow in there, rattling his lungs and making his words shake when they came out of his mouth. He’d been down a long, dark road, and the faintest flicker of light at the end had gone out.

Louis tried to hug him on the bed. He didn’t know where to place his arms, so he lifted Harry up until they were sitting. Louis was on Harry’s lap, legs wrapped around him and arms over his shoulders. He stayed there—not quite hugging, but it was enough—swaying gently side to side to calm himself, and it calmed Harry as well.

"I like.. I like your home." Louis said after a while. "It’s small."

"Not quite the mansion you live in, is it?"

"No. It isn’t." Louis replied, burying his face into Harry’s shoulder. "I prefer it like this."

He sat up and smiled excitedly. "Do you know what? My brother told me that a couple died in my house. The ones who had it built. That’s why their surname is engraved on the garden bench."

"Delightful." Harry said, brushing Louis’ hair from his eyes.

"My parents yelled at me when I asked, so I know it’s true. The couple were in their thirties and the man shot his wife, then shot himself right after."

"Their names weren’t Abigail and Fredric Chambers by any chance, were they?" Harry asked.

"Yes, that’s right." Louis said, "They died in the 60s."

Harry nodded. "It’s a dark story, if you’d like to hear it? Frederic Chambers worked for an advertisement company. In 1962, he got involved with a customer who wanted him to advertise illegal weapons to be sold on the black market in exchange for under-the-table money. He refused, which the customer didn’t like. The customer threatened to bring back some men to hurt Frederic Chambers. The night before Frederic killed his wife, he’d been attacked by these men. He escaped and lead them all to the river. The men were drowned. Frederic couldn’t stand the guilt so he went crazy. That’s why he did what he did."

Louis looked at Harry curiously.

"How do you know things like this? You know everyone’s life, even from thirty years ago."

Harry shook his head and smiled. "Not yours. What I know about you is what you give to me. I don’t know anything else."

"What have I given to you?" Louis said, laughing a little. Harry’s hand was under his shirt and stroking his back which he liked quite a lot. It tickled.

"You’re Louis, aged eighteen. You’re autistic. You stayed back a year at school. You live with a lot of people but your favourite one is Lilly, the dog. I know that your favourite stim is cracking your knuckles. You get upset if you have to wait for too long. You like criminology, music, and the Grandfather clock in your house."

Louis listened, and Harry smiled when he saw how much the boy felt acknowledged.

"You don’t understand the concept of danger, and I think that makes you braver than I’ll ever be. You’re the loveliest person I’ll meet in a lifetime, and I know that you weren’t aware of how much I could say about you."

Louis opened his mouth to reply, closed it, and then laughed shyly. Everything he’d said was right, and Louis had been acknowledge properly, at last.

"Now you." Louis said, "I want to say what I know about you."

"Go on, then, give it a go."

"You’re Harry, and I think you’re just a little bit older than me. You know everything about everything. You don’t have many friends and you have a secret past that you don’t like to talk about."

Harry laughed and leant on the bed. "Don’t know a lot, do you, really?"

"You don’t let me ask you."

"Fair. I win, then."

"No, wait."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Got anything else? Go on."

Louis looked at Harry, "You did ballet once."

* * *

Harry’s smile dropped and his warm expression turned into a ice cold stare. Those vicious eyes of a killer came back and his whole body tensed beneath Louis. He stared, and Louis’ insides twisted.

A burning sensation ran through his stomach and through each limb. His heart sank in his chest as Harry’s eyes bored into him, and even as someone who didn’t understand danger—he was terrified right now.

Harry looked away. He paused, as if one last thought had to run through his mind, before turning back to Louis with a smile. Louis couldn’t tell if it was genuine or not but it was certainly different to those he’d seen before.

"What’s the matter?" Harry said, patting Louis’ thighs, "You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

Louis didn’t reply as lifted him up when he stood from the bed. He didn’t reply when he was put gently down onto the mattress either, or when Harry crawled on top of him. Each time Harry looked away from Louis’ face, his smile dropped and he seemed to fall into some troubling thought, one that scared him and petrified Louis.

His hand moved beneath Louis’ jumper, over Louis’ stomach, and lifted the clothes on it. Cool air blew over Louis’ skin as he did so and gave him goosebumps. Harry leant down and kissed the spot just above his belly button, then moved upwards to the centre on his chest. Louis shivered. Harry’s mouth moved to his right nipple and licked it a few times before biting gently.

"Ah— Ow." Louis said. His breaths were becoming heavier, his body—a little more sensitive, and his chest tickled from Harry’s hair when the man looked at him.

"You can’t tell me that hurt." The man said, smiling.

"No. No, I guess it didn’t. Do it again."

Harry did it again, and then did the same to the other nipple, by which time Louis could agree that it didn’t hurt. A pair of tattooed hands tugged on Louis’ trousers, undoing the buttons and pulling them down. Harry sat up and pulled them off completely. He glanced at Louis who lay curiously on the bed, and pulled off the underwear as well. He sat Louis up and Louis took of his jumper and shirt until he had nothing on.

The room felt much colder, now. Harry took his own clothes off, and Louis bit his lip and tried very hard to find something else to look at. He glanced to the wall, at a photograph of a young boy with green and blue curls, standing by a girl just a little older than himself. They were on the beach somewhere, with a bucket and spade in each hand and smiles on their faces.

A hand took Louis’ cheeks and pulled his own face away from the picture. Harry looked at him. He was no longer smiling like before, and it was a reassurance. The viciousness had gone, the strange look had been pushed to the back on his mind; and now he was full of lust, instead.

He kissed Louis on the lips. He had a strong grasp on Louis’ face, and his kissing was harsh as well. He kissed as if he knew where he stood, and in the chain of crime, he was King.

He held Louis’ face in one hand, the other coming down to touch him hungrily. Louis spread his legs and whined, bucking his hips into the hand that moved up and down slowly. His own hands fumbled around, touching Harry’s chest, the tattoos on his arms, and moving down his stomach to the place that made the man moan deeply into the kiss.

"There, keep going." Harry said, taking Louis’ hand and guiding it up and down at a better angle. "Good boy."

Louis whimpered and Harry moved, releasing the firm grip on Louis’ face to prop himself up on the bed. Louis continued to whimper and whine as Harry touched and kissed him. He did as Harry said, and Harry grew harder in his hand. Their kisses became sloppy with Harry’s moans and Louis’ whimpers. Harry moved his leg to drape it over Louis’ hips, before deciding that it wasn’t enough to just touch each other.

He sat up and took Louis’ legs behind the knees, pushing them up to Louis’ chest. He bent down and licked Louis’ hole. He licked upwards, listening to Louis’ increasingly loud whines, sucking on the base of his shaft, then taking it whole in his mouth.

"Ah—Turn around, Louis." he said, wiping his mouth with his wrist. "On your elbows and knees."

Louis did as he was told and turned around, getting on his hands and knees, before being pushed down to his elbows. Harry gripped his hips, a cold liquid pouring onto him and making him shiver and push back. He felt suddenly very touch starved, and pushed back again, whining and whimpering loudly. He was crying, too, he could feel it.

"Patience. Patience, I’m here." Harry said, shushing Louis. He pushed into Louis, slower than the first time they did it, and it somehow hurt a little more this time, but it felt so good to be filled.

Louis whined loudly, pushing his hips back. His elbows stopped supporting him and his face hit the mattress beneath him, which caused Harry to rub against his prostate, making him cry even more.

Harry paused for a moment, checking if Louis was alright. Louis didn’t notice and pushed back, pulling forwards straight after. He did so repeatedly, learning very quickly that he didn’t need Harry to move at all when he could do this.

The pair of hands grabbed his hips nonetheless and as Louis moved back and forth, Harry did the same, burying deeply into him, to pull out almost completely.

The tiny room wasn’t cold anymore. The windows had steamed up and the air was thick. In the lonely little cottage, there were now voices, and the eighteen year old with razor sharp cheekbones was the loudest thing in there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Please share on twitter or with your Larry buddies if you like this book so far, I'd really appreciate it!  
> Thank you so much!


	11. Loose Threads

The clock ticked on Harry’s bedroom wall. Again and again and again. Louis was going crazy while listening to it, but he couldn’t sleep, no matter how much he wanted to. He’d been sitting bolt upright on the left side of the bed for hours, and each time that his eyes closed he shifted to keep them open. After the clock became truly unbearable, he found Harry’s arm in the darkness and shook it. Harry groaned, shoving him away. He could see the man and his raspberry rose hair in the thin strip of light that slipped through the parting in the curtains. For a murderer, he was ever so warm and peaceful.

Louis hesitated, wondering if he should just let the man sleep, before hearing the ticking again. He shook the man’s arm harder.

"M’what do you want?" Harry mumbled into the pillow, "Turn the landing light on, you can go pee."

"What? I don’t want to go pee."

"Then go to sleep. There’s not long before we have to get up again."

"I can’t sleep. I don’t want to get up early either."

"We need to get up early or your family will notice you aren’t home. Goodnight."

"What happens to the people who fall asleep?"

Harry didn’t reply for a moment, before turning to face Louis in the darkness. "What? What does that mean?"

"What happens to the people who fall asleep?" Louis asked again. "I won’t sleep until you tell me."

Harry groaned and fumbled under the duvet. He found Louis’ arm and gave it a hard tug, pulling Louis from a sitting position to one where both under the blanket, facing each other.

"You know too much." The murderer said. His voice was cold, deep, and sent chilling shivers right through Louis’ body. "You’re not in Wonderland. Things you hear and, that you understand and piece together, you have to keep for yourself. Now, go to sleep."

Louis pulled the duvet up to his nose and curled his legs up to his chest, "Then promise me that you won’t kill me while I sleep. You have to promise. I really, really must see Lilly again."

Harry paused. Louis heard him sigh before a hand touched his cheek and cupped his face. He flinched, and Harry shushed him.

"See? You’ve put to many pieces together and now you’re afraid of something that didn’t scare you before." Harry said quietly. His thumb stroked Louis’ cheek as he spoke, "I’m not a good man, Louis. But, if I had to choose between ending the life of every person on earth, or ending yours—you’d live forever. I’m a murderer, a thief, a criminal, and many other terrible things; but I’d never lay a finger on you."

* * *

What Harry had said that night was correct, and Louis had slept soundly in the old creaking bed. He’d been woken up gently before the break of dawn, been bathed and fed as he half-slept through it, and Harry had taken him down by foot to a nearby farm. An old lady who, each morning, rode in her milk van to London’s City Centre, greeted them and agreed to let them join her. Louis had been given a pot of honey yogurt for the ride and was, as promised, home before anyone noticed he was missing.

Now, he sat alone at the kitchen table, playing on his brother’s gameboy, with Lilly by his side. He could hear his brother come down the stairs with Zayn who’d apparently stayed the night as well, and both were grumbling to each other out of fatigue.

"I don’t know, alright? It’s probably fallen down the side of the bed, ask a maid to look for it."

"You had it last!" Liam replied to Zayn, bursting through the glass double doors and sitting angrily on a stool opposite Louis. Zayn sat by Liam’s side, both ignoring Louis’ existence entirely.

"Look, I don’t have your phone anymore, alright? Ring it on the house-phone or something, I don’t know! Quit whining at me."

"Why are you crying, Liam? Shut up." Louis said, surprising both men who turned to him as if he’d appeared from thin air.

"Where’d you come from?" Liam asked, "Can you ring my number?"

"Your phone’s in your hand." Louis said.

Liam and Zayn looked down at the phone which was, indeed, in Liam’s hand.

"Ah, ha!" Liam said, happily, flipping it open and closed a few times. "I thought as much."

"You’re barmy." Zayn said, leaning over the table to grab the marble ashtray. Louis watched the man take out a cigarette and search his pockets. He looked puzzled for a minute, then groaned and put his cigarette away.

"Life lesson—never lend your lighter to anyone." He said, "They’ll lose it and you’ll never get it back."

"Was it purple with a yellow monster on?" Louis asked, losing for the sixth time in a row at his game. He was only half paying attention to his surroundings.

Zayn frowned at him, "Yeah. Yeah, it was."

"Oh, it’s in the river. You should buy a new one."

Zayn went silent for a moment and slowly leant forward in his chair. Liam’s gaze flickered up at looked to his brother as well. The room seemed to turn incredibly quiet for a moment—so quiet, in fact, that Louis could hear the fan in the bathroom upstairs twirl.

"How could you know that?" Liam asked. He spoke quietly as well, as if something horrible would happen if he brought attention to himself.

Louis stood up from the table. He turned to his dog and pat it on the head, laughing when the animal jumped up at him.

"Haven’t you heard?" he said, "I know everything."

* * *

"I’ve been thinking, Louis," Niall said, later that day, "I think that she fancies me."

It was lunchtime, and Louis was sat with his best friend on the wall that overlooked the school’s basketball court. The school was an old castle that had been refurnished, which meant that there were plenty of gardens and space outside for the students to enjoy. Louis, who liked the outdoors, was the most happy out here. He unwrapped his jam sandwich and swung his feet back and forth, thinking about what Niall had said.

"Who? Who fancies you?" he asked after a moment.

"Her, obviously." Niall said, nodding to a group of girls, in which the middle one was staring and giggling, "She’s in my science class. Saw me the other day set fire to a sheep’s brain. I’m quite good at science, you know."

"You’re not supposed to set fire to it, you’re supposed to dissect it." Louis said, staring at the girl without realising he was doing so. "I don’t think she fancies you."

"Why not?" Niall said, as offended as anyone would have been.

"Well, she’s pretty."

"Are you calling me ugly?"

"No, I’m calling her pretty. As in, really pretty. Look how popular she is." Louis said, nodding his head at the girl who was now surrounded by five members of the after-school football club.

"That doesn’t mean she doesn’t fancy me." Niall said, far less confidently than before.

Louis inspected the girl, then looked Niall up and down.

"Perhaps she’s laughing because you’ve unravelled the entire back of your jumper. Stop pulling loose threads."

Niall’s eyes quickly turned to the back of his jumper which—as Louis had said—no longer existed.

"Ah, man." He groaned, slumping over himself. "What a buzz kill. My mam’s going to be pissed."

"Yeah.." Louis said sympathetically, wiping jam from his chin with his sleeve. "At least you didn’t go and talk to that girl. That would’ve been embarrassing."

"Yeah…" Niall said, laughing nervously.

Louis turned to him. "You didn’t say anything.. did you?"

Niall let go of the loose thread and began to pick at the grass stains on his knees. "I might have put a note in her locker. I may or may not have stupidly signed it with my name and phone number, and attached a photo of myself so I’d definitely not get mistaken for anyone else."

Louis nodded at him, a forced smile on his face, "Awesome." He said, in attempt to reassure his friend. He gave up immediately and said, "That’s going to be really embarrassing for you. That’s going to be even more embarrassing than that time you dropped your lunch tray on the Principle’s head. Or how about that time when you got right hit in the face with a soggy football? Or even, the time when you rode your bike to school, but your trousers got caught on the fence and they ripped right off!—"

"Okay! Okay, I get it! Please, stop.." Niall said, pushing Louis who was laughing hysterically. He laughed so much that he fell off the wall, landing a few feet below on the grass, tears of joy in his eyes.

"Ah—my favourite! You’re my favourite!" Louis managed to say in between laughs.

Niall sighed and shook his head with a smile. He jumped down and landed by Louis’ side, sitting in the grass next to him.

"At least, when all of my dignity is gone—I’ll still have you."

Louis lay flat on his back and sighed loudly in satisfaction, "Perhaps you should just man up and ask her out. There’s a house party tonight at Stacy Mason’s house. Stacy’s third on the most popular list, you know, right after Katie Pence, and Milly Lamburg! We should go."

His eyes widened and he sat up with a smile, poking Niall on the chest. "We should go!"

"I’m not really a party person." Niall said, "Neither are you, why do you want to go?"

"Because, Niall—" Louis said, shaking Niall’s shoulders, "I’m a loser, and you’re a loser. If we go to a house party, our popularity status will rise."

"We’re popular enough."

"You’re 407th on the popularity list. Out of 408. That’s pretty bad."

"Who’s after me?"

"The guy with the really thick glasses who breathes from his mouth. Before you is the jock who’s bad at sports."

"Oh.." Niall said, "Where are you?"

"I’m 286th. That’s not as bad as you, but still pretty bad. If we go to this party, our popularity will rise to in the top fifty on the list! That’s really, really good."

Niall nodded, contemplating the foreign concept of having even an ounce of popularity.

"Bonuses with being in the top fifty are that we won’t get bullied, we get other people’s dessert, and we get laid more than we do now."

"Which is not at all."

Louis’ mind went blank for a moment before he nodded. "That’s right. We’ll be like mojitos without the virgin part."

Niall reflected on the idea for a long while before nodding again, "Okay, then." He said, "I’m down."

"Yay!" Louis said, flapping his hands.

"One question, though. Why am I so far down on the list?" Niall asked.

"Oh, well, your embarrassing moments put you pretty far down." Louis said, "Also Kelly Stevens saw Josie McBucket who saw Andy Picket who saw George 'four-eyes', who saw you and Zayn at the shops looking at adult magazines. Plus, Zayn is famous for his questionable morals, so it affected your popularity greatly. People called you 'Page 3 Boy' for a while."

"No! Wait, are you serious? Why didn’t you tell me?!"

"You didn’t ask." Louis replied.

* * *

"You’re going to a party? You." Liam said, folding his arms and looking at his brother who was sitting on the bed. They were in Louis’ room, and Louis was trying to choose between a bright red shirt, or a bright blue one.

"Why are you saying it like that? I’m allowed to go if I want to."

"You realise that the host is under eighteen. Her parents have probably gone off for the weekend and left her the house. They’ll be fuming when they get back."

"Why is that my problem?" Louis said, taking his own shirt off. "I’m an adult, allegedly, I can drink and go to parties. What anyone else does isn’t my problem."

Liam couldn’t disagree with this, as he’d have said the same thing, so he pointed to the blue shirt. "That one." He said, "And if you hook up with someone, which I can’t imagine you ever doing, make sure they’re the same age or older than you. And stay with Niall. And keep a lid on your drink. And stay by the door so you can leave if you need to."

"Okay, shut up, I’m not incapable." Louis said, "I might sleep at Niall’s house. If I don’t come home, that’s why."

Liam hummed in disapproval and leant against the doorframe. He was wearing heavy black boots, and large trails of slimy mud were seeping into Louis’ cream carpet.

"You haven’t been pressured into going, have you?"

Louis put on the shirt and shook his head as he tucked it in.

"Then, you will be very careful, won’t you?"

"I’m always careful." Louis said, "Except when I’m not. But I will be."

A few hours later, Louis waved to his family and left the house. He wore a blue polo shirt tuckedinto a pair of red trousers, and yellow converses. Over the top, as always, he had his Burberry coat.

Niall stood under a streetlamp at the end of the lane, despite it still being quite light outside, and waved wildly, like an aunt in an airport who’d just noticed her nephew walk past the gates.

"You look so nice." Niall said, pulling at a loose thread on a new, fully intact, jumper.

"I like this shirt. This is your last night as a virgin mojito. How do you feel about it?" Louis asked as they walked up the road.

"Does it make any difference? Losing your virginity?" Niall questioned.

"No." Louis said, and before Niall could respond, he said, "Is what I’ve been told. You’re not really losing anything physical."

"True."

"I like men."

Niall stopped walking or a moment, to then run a few steps and catch up with Louis who kept on walking. "Huh?" he said,

"Men. I like men as well as women."

"Oh." Niall said, thoughtfully. "Since when?"

"Since forever, I just didn’t realise. Are you weirded out by it?"

"No." Niall said, putting his hands in his pockets. He inhaled deeply and said, "I kinda thought you might. You always gave me that impression." He laughed a little and said, "You think Zayn is handsome, don’t you?"

"Because he is."

"Yeah." Niall agreed. "I think so, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiii!  
> I hope you like that chapter!
> 
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> \- LHNAMELESS


	12. House Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Sexual Assault (The scene is marked at its beginning and end so you can read around it. The scene can be skipped if needed)

The party was held in one of the mansions not far away from Louis’ house. The entrance was past a large white gate and through the front garden where a closed off pool waited. The house itself was as all expensive houses appeared—large, white and gold, and perfectly symmetrical from the front. A few groups of people were outside in the grass, talking and drinking. One girl was held against a tree as her partner penetrated her, and another couple were having fun among the gladioli. Louis couldn’t help but watch them, so intrigued by how unashamed they were that he stoped to stare. Niall pulled him away. They walked up the steps where three people were rolling around shirtless, kissing each other; while another group were smoking a particular plant with a very strong smell.

"If I die in there, you’ll tell my mam that she was a gem, won’t you?" Niall said, turning from the door where music was blaring, to Louis who stood beside him. There was no hiding how out of place they both looked.

"If I die, tell Lilly that he’s the best. Tell him that I’m sorry for the time I was daydreaming while pretending to throw the ball, and I’m sorry for how long it took me to realise that I was still holding it in my hand."

They both nodded very unconfidently at one another, and opened the door.

They were immediately hit with the blaring noise of muffled music coming from the speakers in each room, the heat of bodies dancing, and the smell of hundreds of cups of alcohol.

Louis was rather reassured when he saw no flashing lights, and he could get away from the music, if he found a room without it.

They walked in, ignored by everyone until a tall and beefy man in a black tee-shirt wandered up to them. He was dressed as a bodyguard, but Louis recognised him as the second year at his school—making him only sixteen.

"Hey! I’m Andrew!" He shouted over the music, "What are your names? I need to put you on the register!"

Niall shouted their names back, and the boy wrote them down on a crinkled piece of paper. "Right, good! This is Stacy Manson’s party as I’m sure you know! She’s in the dance room—or dining room—whichever you prefer! You can leave your coats on the rack under the stairs! Refreshments are in the bar on the right! Drugs and smoking are only permitted outside and keep the lids on your drinks! Okay, lads?!"

Louis and Niall nodded, and Andrew waved them on their way with a smile. Niall wasn’t wearing a coat, and knew perfectly well that Louis would refuse to give his Burberry garment up, so they went to the bar. It was busy, as were seemingly all of the rooms downstairs, but quieter as there was no music playing. The chatter of people didn’t bother Louis—in fact, he quite liked it. It gave him the reassurance that no one was looking at him.

"Ah—so much drink!" Niall said, walking up to the bar table. A large cabinet stood behind the bar with rows and rows of drinks in. Louis had drank alcohol before, but in family gatherings only. Niall, who was underage, had never drank in his life and appeared quite taken aback by the wide range of choices. As they were contemplating which drink was best, a girl with bright pink and blue hair walked up to them from behind the table.

"Hi! I’m Melody! What can I get you?"

"This is very professional." Niall said, "Are you being paid?"

"No, I’m Stacy’s cousin! She asked me to do the bar!"

"Oh, I see." Niall said, turning to the drinks. "Can I have the same as him?"

He pointed to Louis, and Melody turned her face.

"What would you like, my Love?"

"Ah—do you do shots?" Louis asked, sweeping a stool down with a napkin before sitting on it.

Melody nodded, "Can do, if you like! You look fresh out of the cold weather. I’ll do youa double."

Niall sat beside Louis as Melody poured four shot glasses with a variety of coloured drinks. She handed them over, and Louis gave her money. She thanked him and walked away to another person waiting.

Louis smelt the drink. The pink one was cherry, he guessed, and the blue one was passion fruit.

"So nice." He said. "I’ve never done shots before."

"Have you ever been drunk?"

"No. I was a little tipsy at my Uncle’s wedding earlier this year, but that’s about it."

"Ah well, here goes nothing." Niall said, raising the glass of cherry liquor. Louis smiled and they clinked glasses, tipping their heads back to swallow the drink.

"Hey, there! Hey, buddy—hey." A slurred voice said. A man sat down right next to Niall and they both saw that it was Zayn.

He was either drunk, high, had just had sex, or all three, but seemed ever so happy to see Louis.

"What a funny coincidence!" He said with a smile. He gestured vaguely to the drinks, "Hey, I didn’t know you liked alcohol. We should go drinking sometime."

"Aren’t you a little old to be here?" Louis asked, trying his best to not sound rude.

"No, no. There’s a load of people here of all ages under thirty. See, people get invited, and they invite other people. I came with a friend. She’s wandered off, though."

Louis looked at Zayn who leant on the bar with a sloppy look on his face, "People will think you’re after school kids."

"Me?!" Zayn asked, sitting bolt upright before slouching immediately after. "No. I like a lot of things. Yeah, some things I like have been morally questioned and are in some countries—very, very illegal. I don’’t mess with kids. Never have, never will. That’s messed up, even by my standards. I have an ID before sex policy."

Louis nodded, picking up the passionfruit liquor. "I’m happy to hear that. I think."

* * *

Many hours later into the night, Zayn had wandered off with a man who Louis was certain was the older brother of the seventh most popular girl, and other who was known for stealing the headteacher’s car three years prior.

Louis himself was sat alone on a footstool in the corner of the living room with the family cat on his lap. He was half-asleep, hair flying in all directions, clothes only half on, completely drunk. He watched Niall in the middle of the room, dancing on a table with his shirt tied around his head. He couldn’t tell if everyone watching was laughing with him or at him, but either way—Niall was having a wonderful time.

Louis stood up, holding the cat as he wobbled from side to side. He walked unsteadily over to Niall and put a hand on his shoulder.

"I’m going to lie down somewhere!" He shouted in Niall’s ear. "I’m going to have a nap and then come back to drink with you! Okay?! I’m taking the cat!"

"Yeah!" Niall cheered, "Yeah, yeah! Goodbye! Don’t leave the party without me!"

"Yeah! You, too!" Louis shouted, patting Niall lazily as he walked away, the fluffy grey cat leaning on his chest.

"Hey!" a voice shouted. Louis turned around and saw Stacy—the party host—behind him. She fully turned around from her group of friends to say, "If you need somewhere to calm down and relax, you can go in one of the bedrooms on the third floor! There should be less people up there!"

Louis nodded, perhaps a few too many times, and wandered off through the crowds. By the time he reached the third floor, he was even more tired, wishing there was a lift, and in pain from the cat’s claws that were digging into his collarbone. The stairs were not that steep, nor were there many, but Louis was quite unfit. There were, however, far less people up here.

By far less, Louis realised there were none at all. He looked at the closed doors and chose the one at the far end. Behind it was another door, then a bedroom with a large double bed in the middle. There was a cat tree in the corner, which the cat seemed to appreciate as she jumped down from Louis’ arms and trotted over, jumping onto the branches to sit and groom herself.

Louis smiled and walked to the bed, falling drunkly onto it. He closed his eyes, and sighed. The quiet made him realise how much his ears were ringing and his head was spinning, but it felt ever so good to be alone.

The next thing he knew, he was woken up by the sound of the door creaking open and a high pitch giggle on the other side. A silhouette walked into the room, followed by another that looked just like it. Louis watched the shadows from the bed. He was too drunk to figure out how to move, so he just lay there in the beam of light coming from the door, watching the two people who stood looking at him.

"Guess who?" One of the voices said.

**TRIGGER WARNING: Start**

Louis had never been particularly good at recognising voices, so he just lay there. The other person giggled, and the silhouettes approached him. The two people crawled over the bed either side of him and leant down to his ear-level.

"At first, we thought you were waiting for someone, but you’ve been alone for quite some time." The voice on the left said. It was male, quite young, but that was all Louis could put together. The voice on the right was identical.

"Then we thought, perhaps you were waiting for us."

Suddenly, Louis recognised the voices and jumped up, flicking the bedside table light on.

By his sides were twins with lilac hair and dull green eyes. They were both 23rd on the school’s popularity list, and the younger brothers of a girl in eighth place. For whatever reason or tragedy that had happened to them in their sixteen years of living, they were also morally disturbed, and far more than Zayn had ever been. Any part of what made a human good, or at the very least, decent—they didn’t have. Louis was, and had always been, terrified of them.

"What a flushed face." Edward said, stroking a finger over Louis’ pink cheek.

"Did someone else get to you first?" William added.

Louis froze up like he always did when he couldn’t process a situation. The two boys shifted closer and pushed his chest down until Louis was lying on his back.

William’s hand moved over Louis’ stomach and untucked the shirt from his trousers. It glided beneath it and over Louis’ chest, touching his nipples.

Louis flinched, a slight noise coming from his throat, but couldn’t move beyond that. He stared with wide eyes at the boys who began to undo his belt. He couldn’t process what was happening, couldn’t speak even thought he desperately wanted to, and didn’t have any idea of what to do. He couldn’t understand danger, but fear—he’d never felt it more than now.

Edward’s hand slipped into his trousers, and Louis whined loudly, pressing his legs together. William tutted and pried them apart.

"Stay." He said.

Louis’ body reacted by reflex, growing harder at the touch, and it made him buck his hips into the hand over his boxers. He had no expression on his face—no tears or sadness, but certainly not joy.

Just then, as Edward’s hand moved beneath the last layer of fabric, the door opened.

The twins turned to look, hands still all over Louis.

"What the hell do you think you’re doing?" Harry’s voice said.

As soon as Louis heard it, his body melted from where it felt frozen solid. He sat up, shoved Edward and William’s hands off him, curled into a ball and began to sob uncontrollably into the mattress.

"Back off, now!" Harry said. His voice was far angrier than Louis had ever heard anyone speak, and his tone was an awful sound. A gun clicked, and the twins leaped off the bed, running out of the room and slamming the door behind them.

**TRIGGER WARNING: End**

A pair of strong hands pulled Louis up. He was dragged onto Harry’s lap where he cried into the crook of Harry’s neck, gripping the man’s coat as if he couldn’t bear to part from him.

Harry rocked side to side, shushing Louis and stroking his hair.

It took a long, long while, but Louis eventually calmed down in Harry’s arms. The cat had been of great help, as it had wandered over and sat on Louis’ knees like a furry grey blanket. Louis picked it up and hugged it, using the back of its head to wipe his eyes.

Harry watched him, still holding the man on his lap.

"It’s alright." He said softly, brushing Louis’ hair from his face. "Here, do your zipper up, okay? You’re alright. Safe, now."

Louis sniffed loudly and pulled his zipper up, tying his belt again. His hands were shaking, so Harry guided him until he was dressed correctly. Louis pulled the cat back into a hug.

"Can you speak?" Harry asked. "Did you come to the party alone? Shake your head for no, nod for yes."

Louis nodded, then shook his head, and started rocking back and forth in frustration.

"Hey. Hey, it’s okay. Calm, Louis." Harry said, "Tap my shoulder for yes, tug my hair a little for no. Did you come to the party alone?"

Louis tugged Harry’s curls for no.

"Are they still here?"

Louis tapped Harry’s shoulder.

"How many people?" he asked, putting his hand out. Louis put down all of his fingers but one.

"Do you want me to find them? I’ll drive you both home. Do you want that?"

Louis tapped Harry’s shoulder again.

Harry nodded. "Okay." He took his phone out of his pocket and handed it to Louis, flipping it open. "Write down your friend’s name. I’ll go and find them."

Louis took the phone and typed in Niall’s name. He spelt it incorrectly, but Harry seemed to know who it was nonetheless.

He lifted Louis and the cat, and sat them both on the bed.

"I’ll come back for you in less than five minutes, okay? I’ll take the key so no one can come in. Yes?"

This time, Louis nodded. He brushed his lips over the cat’s fur as he watched Harry leave. The man paused by the door. He looked back,

"They won’t come back for you." He said, "I promise you that."


	13. Sleeping Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has an illustration to go with it! The illustration can be found on the Wattpad version!

It was deep in the night when Harry and Louis were finally alone in Harry’s car. It was a black Jeep Cherokee, but something was wrong with the engine so it puffed and chugged whenever the accelerator was pressed down. Right now, however, they were parked around the corner from Louis’ home beneath a large willow tree. Niall had been dropped off at his place, completely drunk and ready to be scolded by his mother, and Louis had asked to be taken to his own bed instead. He’d not told Niall about what had happened, not that he’d remember this night anyway. He had no idea who he was with or what was going on.

Louis sat huddled in a ball on the passenger seat, facing away from Harry and looking at the branches of the willow swing back and forth in the moonlight.

A hand touched the back of his neck and stroked his hair, massaging his head just how he liked it. Harry was beside him, looking at the empty road ahead and smoking peacefully, occasionally putting his other arm out the window to tap the cigarrette ash onto the gutter. After a while of complete silence, he turned his face to Louis.

"Do you know those twins?" He asked softly.

Louis nodded.

"Do you see them often?"

Louis shook his head.

Harry took his hand away. Louis listened to the car door open, close, then watched Harry walk around to open the passenger’s door where he sat.

Harry leant over and undid the seat belt, picking Louis up to put him down in the back seat instead. Harry got in beside him and shut the door.

"When I was little, there was this boy who used to live with us." Harry said, "He was only a few years older, but this boy never spoke to me; he never looked at me or acknowledged I was there for almost the entire time that we lived together. Yet, every night, he used to come into my room and get into my bed. He never spoke, but he’d lie down beside me and fall asleep. The morning after, the same routine would happen—he’d ignore me completely as if he refused to remember the night before."

Harry spoke so calmly, twisting the rings around his fingers and tapping his foot occasionally on the floor.

"As we grew older and he hit puberty, he became more touchy. At first, he’d fiddle with my hair, then it turned into him caressing my arm. A few months passed and he’d put his hand beneath my shirt. By the time he was fourteen, he was touching me sexually. The boy still didn’t speak. The mornings after were spent as if nothing had ever happened. No one knew that he came into my room, and at times, even I questioned it." Harry inhaled deeply and said, "I turned fifteen, and the boy was a young man by then. We’d have sex each night after dark when everyone else was fast asleep. It was rough, hungry, as if he’d been waiting forever for someone to feed on.

One night, on the eve of his eighteenth birthday, he didn’t come to my room. The next morning, we found his belongings gone and the room was empty. The pictures of him were missing and his details were removed from the phonebook. It was like he’d never even existed in the first place."

Louis listened, watching Harry twist the rings around and around his fingers. He put his hand out and stopped him. Harry looked at the hand on his own, then to Louis’ face. Louis didn’t look back, but continued to stare at the rings. His fingers, ever so slowly, laced themselves with Harry’s.

He held the man’s hand, and turned his face in the moonlight to look at the willow tree out of the opposite window to where Harry was.

They stayed like that for quite some time, in a comfortable yet strange silence. Night owls flew above them, and the willow rustled, but the night was quiet and safe.

Louis was the first to move. He turned his head and sat up from the car seat. His gaze went to Harry’s green eyes that watched back, intrigued at what he’d do next. Louis—without letting go of the hand he was holding—swung his leg over Harry’s lap so he was sitting, facing him. His head was ducked from the car roof, and the space was quite small, but he didn’t seem to mind.

He let go of Harry’s hand to move to the man’s shirt. He undid the top button, then the second, before pausing. Harry didn’t react, so he undid the third, then the fourth and fifth, right until he’d opened the shirt completely. Harry’s chest rose and sank as he breathed, and Louis touched it, hands ghosting over his skin. Harry didn’t stir. He didn’t reject Louis, nor did he invite him. As he’d always done—he accepted Louis for whatever he wanted to do.

He undid Harry’s belt, and Harry noticed when the man looked down, how long his eyelashes were. Handsome didn’t seem the right word to describe Louis—but he was certainly very graceful-looking. Clothed, he was sweet, like a teddy bear; and unclothed, he was delicate like a porcelain doll. There was nothing Harry could think of that was distasteful about the man. Handsome—he was too sweet for that; but 'angelic’ fitted him quite well.

Harry rolled his hips forward when Louis opened his jeans and tugged them down his hips. He could smell the alcohol, but it was much fainter than it had been before. Louis was getting worked up as well—although very faint, his hips were flicking back and forth on Harry’s lap as well. Harry put his hands at the top of Louis’ thighs and squeezed gently. Louis grabbed his hand and bent over himself as if that little touch was too much for him. He sat up again, baby blue eyes almost pitch black with lust, watching his fingers glide over Harry’s stomach and squeeze his chest. Harry swallowed. It felt uncomfortable to do anything to Louis when he was still drunk, and so he sat there, quite still, as Louis’ hands ran over his torso and his hips pressed down onto Harry’s own ones. Somewhere in the touches, it seemed as if Louis was trying to say something, so Harry listened.

Louis looked at him with those deep eyes of his. His hair was a mess, his clothes were crumpled, but he was well aware of what was happening. There were most definitely sparks of rational thought going through his mind, piecing together tiny details that others would have missed; and as the touches became more and more desperate, and those thoughts became deeper and deeper—the murderer with the Raspberry Rose curls became rapidly enwreathed by the man on his lap.

Louis’ left hand moved up and down his shaft, tugging gently in the way Harry liked, his own body straining in his trousers. Harry’s hand lifted invitingly to touch him back, but Louis pushed him away.

"Aren’t you uncomfortable?" Harry asked, to which Louis shook his head, too aroused by what he was looking at to even think of a clearer response.

He sped up a little, watching a drop of white liquid drip from the tip, down his hand. He licked it off, and Harry’s fingers dug into his thighs when he did so. The windows of the old Jeep began to steam, and they were left alone in the world, and that was all they needed.

Louis looked at Harry, and shifted backwards, off his lap and onto the space between the front and back seat of the car. He leant forward, licked the white liquid from Harry’s tip, and slowly took almost the whole thing in his mouth. He didn’t have any reflex, nor did he show any pain when it hit the back on his throat. What he couldn’t take, he held with his hand, and Harry’s mouth opened when he saw it. His own hand, by instinct, came up and grabbed the back of Louis’ head, pushing him down when his hips bucked up—even then, Louis didn’t show pain. He moaned deeply, tucking his hair behind his ear, and pulled away, licking down the sides and the base as he liked to have done on himself.

"Don’t you want—me to touch you?" Harry asked, pausing mid-sentence to groan when Louis sucked on him.

"Mnh—" Louis replied, furrowing his eyebrows and digging his nails into Harry’s leg to indicate that he didn’t.

"Why? What are you doing?"

Louis’ eyes opened and watched with a gaze so dark and lustful Harry could see his own silhouette staring back. Louis pulled away, just an inch, white trails drizzling from his lips to where he’d just been sucking. Under his breath, he said,

"Giving you the love all the other people didn’t."

* * *

"Hey. Wake up, it’s one in the afternoon." Liam’s voice said somewhere in the distance. Louis moaned and rolled over the bed. A hand shaking him woke him up, and Liam’s voice saying, "I’ve brought you water."

At the touch, Louis jumped, eyes flashing open. He bolted upright in the bed, only to relax when he saw his brother standing there.

"Hey—" Liam said, "Hey, calm down. Had a bad dream?"

Louis swallowed and cracked his knuckles, sinking back into the bed.

He watched Liam sigh and walk over to the double doors. The man closed them and said, "Why are these open? It’s freezing in here."

Louis sat up, rubbing his head. He was wearing the shirt from the night before and his underwear. He looked to the chair and saw his trousers draped over it. Harry had brought him back here, and while Louis had gone through the front door, Harry had climbed up the vines to make sure he got to bed safe. He’d fallen asleep as soon as his head had touched the pillow.

Liam sat on the bed and tilted his head, handing Louis a glass of water. Louis took it and drank as if he’d not had a drink in a year.

"How was the party? You told me you were going to stay at Niall’s. What happened?"

"Uh—"Louis said, rubbing his head. He looked as if he was thinking, but there was nothing going on inside his head besides the memory of Harry in the back seat of the Jeep.

"Did you see Zayn? He told me he saw you."

"Yeah. Yeah, I saw him." Louis said. "With my eyes."

Liam nodded slowly. "So, you had fun?"

"I’m 139th on the school popularity list. That’s good.. It’s good. I still won’t get other people’s desert, though.. which sucks.."

Liam took his brother’s face in his hand and squeezed his cheeks. "Popularity isn’t everything, even at school. You’re enough the way you are."

"Most people.. They don’t think so." Louis said, lost in a hungover daze.

Liam smiled sadly, "I do. I’ve always thought that." He said, "Zayn thinks you’re enough, so does Niall; so does Lilly. You’re Lilly’s whole world."

Louis smiled then, cracking his knuckles and suddenly wide awake. He pulled his knees up, shook his head and buried his face in his lap. "I really like Lilly." He said.

Liam laughed and ruffled his brother’s hair, standing up from the bed. "I know you do. I think everyone knows. Have a shower and and take him on a walk. It’ll wake you up a bit. Oh, and get Niall up while you’re at it. I’ll make a banana milkshake for your hangover."

Liam left the room and Louis smiled. He rubbed his eyes and lay down. His eyes immediately went to a patch on the bedpost above his head. The bedpost had a chunk missing out of it. It wasn’t noticeable, and the area was small, but Louis had always been observant of change. He stood up and peered at the pale piece of unvarnished wood. Engraved into the piece were letters,

’ _Ballroom Dance at the World’s End_ ’

* * *

Niall opened his front door drastically, like one would open the door to a pizza delivery man, or some other wall-awaited arrival. He looked, however, as if he’d just escaped some apocalyptic scenario with blond hair flying at all directions, dark circles under his eyes, and a grimace on his face when the sunlight hit him.

He saw Louis standing on his doorstep. His eyes wandered down the lead to the dog on the other end, peeing up his mother’s olive tree, then back to Louis who was clearly unimpressed with what he saw. He seemed well aware that he didn’t look even half as bad as Niall—with his colour-block jacket, Burberry coat, yellow converses and red trousers. His hair was nice and fluffy, and his skin glowing. Looking as good as he did, Niall felt as if his concerned and slightly judgmental gaze was justified.

"Uh—"Niall said, waggling a finger at his friend, "Why?"

Louis looked down at himself, "Why what?" he asked.

"Uh, hello? You can’t look good after a party. If you wake up looking like that, it means that you didn’t have enough fun." Niall said, stepping into his shoes and walking out of the house. He closed the door behind himself and put his hands in his jacket pockets. "More importantly, have we gone up on the popularity list?"

"I have." Louis said, walking down the drive with Niall and Lilly, "Have you been on the school page today? I really think you should go on it."

Niall stopped, "Why?" He said, abruptly.

Louis took out a piece of paper from his pocket and showed it to Niall. He’d printed the screenshots of his father’s computer screen, on which was the school page run by Evie Wilbur—the cute tech girl with black plaits and a funny walk. The page had a news headline with the words ’ _Niall from Class B’s secret hobby?_ ' in bold letters. Underneath was a blurry photograph of Niall in the living room where Louis had left him, wearing his shirt around his head and kneeling on all fours with his tongue out as the after-school football club members poured various drinks into his mouth. The scene was somewhat erotic, animalistic, and over-all a memory that would follow Niall to the grave.

"Oh my God, Louis." The boy said, emphasising every word. He looked at his friend in horror. "Oh my God, Louis." He said again. He made an 'L' shape with his index and thumb and put it against his forehead, "They haven’t given me a nickname, have they? If they’ve given me a nickname, I’m never going to school again."

The pause where Louis was torn between lying and coming clean made Niall’s eyes widen even more. He sat on the drive-way and rolled back, head in his hands. "No.." He whined, "No, no, no. I’m even more unpopular than the most unpopular kid. I’m so unpopular that if I raise my hand during those weird, awkward silences after the teacher asks a question, even the teacher will pretend to not see me."

Louis pressed his lips together in an understanding smile. He couldn’t lie and deny what Niall was saying. The boy’s popularity and dignity was completely gone, and with the nickname he was given, there really didn’t seem to be any hope for him. It was common knowledge that receiving a nickname during school years was the worst thing that could happen to a student.

"Please, Louis.." Niall said, still on the ground, "My nickname.. What is it?"

Louis pulled Lilly away from where he was about to pee on Niall and said, "Footy Licker."

"Footy Licker?!" Niall shouted, standing up and grabbing Louis by the shoulders. "That’s even worse than Page 3 Boy!"

"You shouldn’t have let the football team pour drinks into your mouth like a dog.. Oh, but it could have been worse." Louis said with a sympathising smile.

"How?!"

"I don’t know. Just take a chill pill, you’ll be alright." Louis said, before a long silence followed, "I’d hate to be you, though."

He turned away from Niall and walked out of the drive, making his way to the corner-shop by the church. He really wanted a Curly-Wurly, or maybe a chocolate orange, or if the nice shop lady named Doris was there, he’d ask for both. Niall ran after him, tripping on his laces before catching himself.

"You have a status to maintain. You’re not going to abandon me now, are you?"

"As if." Louis shook his head, "I like you, even though you’re a Footy Licker."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please comment, vote and share if you like it!  
> It means a lot to know what you think. Thank you!


	14. Maple Syrup

On Cherry Tree Lane in the small farming village, tucked away far past the outskirts of London, was a corner shop. It had once had a bell above the door that children enjoyed listening to, but had long been broken until the only noise when the door opened was a long squeak of rusty hinges. The sign above the door, too, had once been bright red and glistening, but had long faded into a dull pink.

The building, like the village itself, was old and worn, and just like the village— the corner shop on Cherry Tree Lane brought happiness to anyone who’d cross its path.

The door opened with a squeak, and closed with a click behind the man in a sheepskin jacket. He’d come from the cold, nose pink at the tip and body shivering. Dawn was breaking over the hills, beginning to warm the land and fields, and the roosters were beginning to call.

The man walked up to the counter and smiled at the lady behind it. Her name was Maple, like the syrup. Maple’s mother had craved the syrup while pregnant with her, but had died during child-birth. Maple’s father had named their daughter accordingly, but passed later that spring as well from pneumonia.Nonetheless, Maple was well-loved and well-mannered; with children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren who adored to stop by for a visit. Among the great-grandchildren, was Harry.

"The usual, please. Three." He said, nodding his head to the pack of cigarettes on the shelf behind the counter.

Maple smiled and picked three packs from the shelf. She put them on the counter and began to scan them. "Had a nice week, Love? We’ve not seen you around much lately." She said, leaving Harry unsure of who 'we' was referring to. "You should visit Mrs. Morris. She’s got some fresh eggs and marmalade for you."

"Oh. Yeah, she put a note through the letterbox. I will do." Harry shrugged, "And I’ve been keeping busy." he said, "You know how it is."

"Ah, it must be ever so hard for you, Love, working so far from the village." Maple said, "Still— is the bakery to your liking? Made any new recipes?"

"A few." Harry lied.

"Your mother and sister must be ever so proud of you for doing what you enjoy! When you were little, your mother used to say, ' _Oh, our Harry! How he loves to bake! He could make bread buns all day!_ '"

Maple chuckled and Harry smiled stiffly, shifting from one foot to the other.

"You know, Harry, we used to try and guess what you’d do when you were older. I thought you’d become a poet! Your sister thought you’d be a ballet dancer, and your mother thought you’d be a baker. Mothers always know best!" Maple said, scanning a strawberry-cream lollipop that Harry took from the side and handed her.

"Oh, but you’re doing ever so well. You had a lot of pent-up emotions when you were younger; God knows where from, but you’ve sorted yourself out."

Maple took the money from Harry and smiled at him, "Look at you now! What a good person you are!"

Harry snatched the bag from the counter and turned around sharply. He walked to the door with a brief wave, and left the corner shop with nothing more than that.

He trudged up the path, carefully avoiding the large puddles that had settled into every pothole. He sped up past Mrs. Morris’ house, and came across a kitten on the ground. It was ginger with blue eyes, and although it appeared to have been run over several times due to its messy fur and muddy feet—it was breathing.

Harry crouched down in front of it, placing the bag on the ground by his side. He looked at the kitten for a few minutes. It was at the age where it was old enough to walk around and make noises, but too young to fend for itself. As of now, it was asleep in a pothole, unaware that any passing vehicle could run it over.

Harry looked around, listening for its mother or siblings. For the past three years, there had been rise in cats in the village after one of the farmers had decided to let theirs breed. By this third year, there had been many generations and most of the cats born were feral.

"Hey." Harry said, poking the kitten. The kitten jumped, opening its eyes and hissing until it saw Harry. At the sight of a human, the kitten leapt to its feet and began to meow incessantly, rubbing its head on Harry’s legs.

"You’ll get run over." Harry said, standing up. "Go back to your mother."

He walked down the road with his bag, fully aware that the kitten was following him. He stopped, and so did the cat. He bagan to walk some more, and the kitten followed on. As he reached the gate to his cottage, he turned around. The kitten stood a few feet behind him, meowing loudly and rubbing itself on a lampost. Harry shooed it.

"Go." He said, "Go home. You can’t come in."

As Harry opened the gate, the kitten trotted over, tail up, and ran past him to the cluster of daffodils outside the conservatory. Harry frowned at it and unlocked his front door. He went inside, closed the door behind him, and listened to the cat meow non-stop while he took his shoes and coat off.

The kitten continued to make a fuss outside as he made a cup of coffee, then wailed sadly among the daffodils when it saw Harry sit in the conservatory with a book.

Harry ignored it, assuming it would go away, until an hour passed and the kitten was still crying. He looked up from his book at it. The kitten was lying under a daffodil feeling sorry for itself as waterdrops from the petals dripped on its head repeatedly.

"Sit in the sun." Harry said to it. His voice gave the kitten new hope as it hopped to its feet again to purr as if it hadn’t been doing so for hours already. It scratched at the conservatory walls, and it when its nails began to screech against the glass that Harry gave in.

He filled an ash tray with left-overs and took it outside. The cat ran over to him when the door opened, and Harry set the bowl in the middle of the lawn. The kitten leapt on the food eagerly and began to chew away at the chicken.

Harry watched the cat for a moment, then sat down in the grass by its side. The cat looked up as if to ask what he was doing.

"What?" Harry said to it, "Look how little you are. Another cat would steal your food if I left. Eat. Maybe then, you’ll grow."

The cat went back to its food and harry sat by it, observing each of his flowers that were coming into spring.

"I’m not a cat person, alright?" he said to the cat. "I’m wanted for murder. I don’t do pets."

The cat swallowed the last of the food and shook itself. It purred in appreciation, rubbing its head on Harry’s thigh. Harry let the cat crawl onto his lap and claw at his jumper.

"Stop that." He said, pushing the kitten off. The cat crawled back.

It clawed a few more times at the knitted garment, then sat down to groom itself.

"You’re filthy." Harry said. The kitten didn’t take the insult, so Harry added, "And I don’t like cats."

He wasn’t sure what reaction he expected, but he got none, so he picked the kitten up by the scruff of the neck and held it to eye-level.

They studied each other. There was a certain lack of menace behind the cat’s eyes that Harryrecognised. There was no judgement, hatred, evil, or any of the sort. The cat’s blue eyes were youthful and curious, as if everything they looked at was brand new to them.

Harry put the cat back in his lap.

"Fine. You can stay for now." He said, "But don’t be surprised if I’m not here to give you breakfast every morning."

***

The television on the chest of draws across from Louis’ bed was on the true crime channel. It played a documentary about a girl who’d been kidnapped and buried in the woods, back in the 1980s. Louis lay in his bed, curled up sideways, watching the screen and trying to not fall asleep. He wasn’t necessarily tired, but something was bothering him and had been doing so all day. He couldn’t figure out what, which irritated him.

A short while later, when he was becoming really worked up with his discomfort, Liam walked in with a glass of orange juice. The man set it on the bedside table, and Louis sat up.

"You look cheerful." Liam said, looking at Louis’ scowl. "What’s the matter?"

Louis cracked his knuckles, and took the glass that Liam handed him. He drunk it, suddenly understanding a part his feelings—one being that he was severely dehydrated.

"Woah there, easy—when was the last time you had a drink?" Liam asked, watching his brother drink the entire glass in one go and set it back on the table. Louis rocked back and forth, and Liam added, "You’ve got an alarm on your phone to get a drink, stop turning it off."

"It’s annoying." Louis said, wringing his hands out, "Everything’s so annoying, all the time!"

He started rocking back and forth more aggressively, until Liam pulled him up and off the bed so they were standing.

"What’s wrong?"

"I don’t know, I’m so uncomfortable—"

Louis suddenly felt very overwhelmed and angry with both himself and everything around him. As Liam had done many times in the past before a meltdown, he pulled Louis into a tight hug, rocking him gently.

"Come out of your room, I’ll get you sorted out. It’s dark and stuffy in here."

Liam took Louis to the main bathroom of the house with a marble bath beneath the window, and sensory lights lining the rims of the ceiling. Liam turned them to purple, and sat Louis on the stool by the shower.

Louis did so, crying and rocking side to side.

"I’ll run a bubble bath for you and get you something to eat, okay? Stay here, I’ll get mum to help you, okay?"

Louis nodded, cracking his knuckles, and Liam left the room. Moments later, a rush of footsteps approached the bathroom door and Louis’ mother came in. She knelt by his side and pulled him into a tight hug.

"Ah, my Angel." She said, rocking her son as gently as Liam had. "It’s alright."

She was what many referred to as 'God’s gift'. She was a nurse and had been for years. The lady was as kind as Louis found her beautiful, and she loved every person who crossed her path, be it a friend or a mere passerby. She always saw the best in people, even when no one else could, and Louis was so thankful for it.

"Here look, you’ve been in your room all day. You need fresh air and food." She said, holding her son’s face, "You’ll feel much better afterwards. Liam’s gone to make you spaghetti hoops."

Louis was tugging at his clothes, creasing them in his hands with the force, so his mother stepped back and waited for him to pull them off. He pulled of his shirt and threw it on the ground, then his socks, and then his pyjama bottoms. He continued to rock back and forth and shake his hands, while his mother picked his clothes up and placed them in a pile on a nearby chair. She sat by her son again and rubbed his back.

The purple lights changed to blue, then to pink, teal, and back to purple again. Louis’ mother rocked and hugged her son until he was able to place himself in the world again. It took a long time—long enough for the bath the fill and the spaghetti hoops to arrive on a tray with Louis’ favourite spoon, and long enough for the clouds to pass over the City and disappear into the night.

At last, Louis sniffed and pulled away from his mother, looking around the bathroom as if he didn’t know where he was. He saw the bowl on the sink and reached for it. Louis’ mother put it in his hands and kissed him before standing up.

"Do you want to get in the bath first?" she asked, seeing how her son was shivering. Louis nodded and stood up. He climbed into the bath and sat down with his bowl of spaghetti. He felt tired and angry, but the irritating discomfort that he’d felt before was now gone.

Louis’ mother picked up the empty tray and stepped towards the door.

"I’ll go and change your sheets while you have a bath, alright? You’ll feel more comfortable when you go to bed."

Louis nodded and smiled. Louis’ mother smiled back, stepping forward to ruffle his hair before leaving the room.

"If something is bothering you," She said, "I’m always here to listen."

***

The bed, with its fresh white sheets, was surprisingly more comfortable than Louis had expected. He was buried up to his nose in two thick duvets, and surrounded by four large pillows. He lay on his back, counting the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, and drifting in and out of various daydreams. Life and noises were ever so draining that whenever the chance to daydreamed arised—he always took it.

Time alone after dark was mandatory for Louis’ mental health, and always had been since he was little. His parents made that rule quite clear to anyone they employed, and it was a rule that was respected.

The night was Louis’ comfort time when he could stim if he wanted to, daydream as far as he wished, and relax in the quiet.

This night, however, after counting the stars on his ceiling six times in a row and turning over onto his stomach—he realised that he was neither tired nor relaxed. He was quite bored, in fact, from being in his room all day that he almost wished it was daytime once more so he could go and do something more interesting.

As he sank into his own irritability once again, a tap came on the window as if a bird had flown into the glass. Louis sat up to have a look. Indeed, there was something white on the balcony that fluttered desperately on the ground. It glowed in the moonlight and twitched frantically. Louis jumped out of bed and ran over to it, pulling the doors open only to realise that it wasn’t a bird at all.

It was a piece of white paper, folded and creased into the shape of a butterfly. The breeze was blowing it, making the wings flutter as if it were asking Louis to pick it up. He did so, and a soft whistle came from the fig tree opposite.

In the tree, on the third branch up, sat a very smart-looking Harry. He wore a sheepskin jacket, black jeans and blue shoes. His raspberry rose hair fell loosely around his shoulders until he tucked it behind his ears. He smiled at Louis and waved.

"A little dicky bird told me that you’ve had a bad day." He said, quiet enough as to not wake anyone else. "I’ll take you somewhere nice, if you’d like to come."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please vote, share and comment if you like this chapter and story!
> 
> Thank you so much and see you soon!


	15. Dove's Waltz

Louis waved back at Harry, sat in the fig tree. He laughed, jumped up and down, and went back inside to get dressed. He walked out of the front door a few minutes later, patting Lilly on the head and telling him to stay quiet, and that he’d be back later.

Harry was waiting patiently, shoulder leant against one of the posts that held the roof above the doorstep, and feet crossed at the ankle. He blew the smoke from his cigarette away from Louis and the dog before nodding to the animal.

"Is that Lilly?" he asked.

Louis nodded and stepped aside so Harry could pet the dog. He did so, crouching down and massaging the dog behind the ears, making it groan.

"Good boy." Harry said, speaking quietly as to not wake anyone, "I had one once. Old English sheepdog called Beth. The farmer who lived down the road gave me her for my sixth birthday. He said that Beth wouldn’t make it to her first birthday because she was disabled—couldn’t walk properly. It came as a surprise when she lived her full and peaceful life."

Harry smiled at the dog while he spoke, and Louis smiled at Harry. After a moment, Harry laughed softly, shaking his head, and stood up.

"We should go." He said, bending down again to pick his cigarette up from the flowerpot he’d placed it on. "Paradise doesn’t wait."

* * *

Harry’s motorbike was driven down the river Thames—where Louis had slipped in and out of daydreams while looking at the city lights reflect on the water—and through tall brick buildings in the rougher area of London where Louis had never been before. The bike stopped on the pavement down a grimy street where there was no other person, and the only sign of life was a stray rummaging in a nearby bin.

Both Harry and Louis got off the bike, looking at the dog curiously. Harry continued to watch it while he pushed the bike to a small gap between two of the buildings. The widest part of the bike just about fit as he steered it through. He beckoned Louis to follow, which Louis did.

Louis had always believed that everyone had a gift—Niall’s was his ability to ride a bicycle down a grassy hill with no brakes, Liam’s was to be likeable even though he made all of the wrong decisions, and Zayn’s was to not be in jail, even after doing the unmentionable-yet-questionable-thing he did in secondary school that one time.

Louis, while watching the motorbike disappear behind a large yellow skip, decided that Harry’s gift was to find abandoned carparks.

Harry walked back out from behind the skip, stood by Louis’ side with his hands on his hips, paced up and down a few times until he decided that no one would see the bike, should anyone happen to come down this dark alleyway in the middle of the night looking for it.

He nodded, and took Louis’ hand, leading him to a gap in the barbed wire fence that surrounded the carpark.It was dark—very dark—and Louis could barely see the wall that was right in front of his face when he crawled through the gap. In fact, he was certain that he’d not have seen it, had Harry not have jumped onto a wheelie bin and clambered onto it.

"You coming or what?" The man asked, putting a hand down to Louis.

Louis took it, and climbed onto the bin, crawling onto the wall and watching Harry jump down the other side to a grassy mound below. Louis followed, skipping after Harry as the man walked over the grass with purpose.

Louis could barely see his own hand in front of his face, let alone the place Harry was walking to. All he could see when he looked ahead was a huge black silhouette starting from the ground, and fading somewhere into the night sky. It was so huge in fact, that he couldn’t decide if it was real or an illusion.

He stopped and called for Harry, suddenly very dizzy and confused about where he was or what he was doing. Harry walked back over to him and found his face in the dark. His hands were warm on Louis’ cheeks.

"Are you lost?"

"I can’t see anything."

"I know, neither can I. We’re nearly there."

"Where are we going?"

"Across the grass. Don’t turn your phone screen on, someone will see it."

Louis put his phone back in his pocket, and Harry held his hand. He felt better, at least, knowing that someone else was with him.  
They walked for quite some time across the freshly-cut grass. Louis could hear cars honking in the distance, and all of the City sounds he could ground himself with. He seemed to be miles away from anyone, and wasn’t sure who would see him if he turned his phone on, but he trusted Harry more than he trusted himself.

Harry was talking as well, not to Louis, but under his breath to himself. He was counting. By the wall, he’d counted one step. He was now at step one hundred and nine.

By step one hunded and thirty four, he stopped. Louis listened to a patting sound, and a sigh of satisfaction.

The hand that Louis was holding let go and took his wrist instead. His hand was lifted, and touched a cold stone wall. Louis patted it, as well.

"Now.." Harry said, tapping the wall repeatedly as he walked along the side of it. The sound of stone turned into the sound of wood, like an old door with a heavy metal knocker. Louis listened to the creak of it opening, and was lead inside, the door closing behind him.

"It was unlocked for us." Harry said, in a tone that made Louis believe that something illegal had happened along the way.

Louis said, "oh," before forgetting about the conversation when he smelt the scent of church, or castles, or other old stone buildings. It was the damp, musky scent, and Louis quite liked it.

As he was smelling the air, a beam of light blinded him. He flinched, and opened his eyes again. Harry had flipped open his phone, and was looking at it.

"Hm." He said, before turning it around to look at his surroundings. There wasn’t much to see besides the small space they were in, and a stairwell leading up into the darkness. "You can turn your phone on, if you like."

Louis did so, and took Harry’s hand that was held out to him.

They began to walk up the stairs, with Louis still oblivious to where they were or where they were going.

They walked, and walked, took a break, and walked some more. It felt like hours until they finally reached another door at the top.

Harry sighed deeply, " _Jesus_ —" he said, putting a hand on his heart. He looked at Louis, and Louis looked back with a blank expression.

He, too, could feel his lungs about to collapse but was too exhausted to react to the feeling.

Harry put a hand on Louis’ pink cheek and rubbed his thumb on it, "At least, if we die now, just know that Heaven’s just through this door."

He knocked on the wooden door with his knuckles, smiled, and opened it.

A flow of light entered the stairwell. The sounds of doves nesting in the rooftops echoed around the glass walls of a huge square room. Moonlight glinted through the glass, glistening on the marble floor, changing shapes, colours, and shining on Louis’ skin when he stepped into the light. It was like being inside a diamond, and Louis believed then that there was no better place. He looked around himself, mouth open, his little heart thumping from how much there was to love.

The four walls were not completely glass, he noticed, but stone, with circular glass windows so large that they went from brim to brim. The more Louis looked at them, the more he noticed. On the other side of the glass were back-to-front numbers, that could be read from the other side, and clock handles in the centre.

A hand touched his shoulder lightly, and Louis turned around. Harry stood there, more handsome than ever before with the lights dancing on his body. He smiled, putting one hand behind his back, and the other out to Louis.

Louis took it, reading the tattoo saying 'JILL' as he did so, and Harry walked him to the centre of the empty room.

The music of the doves echoed around them, and their footsteps tapped the floor as they began to dance. Louis had learnt long ago with his Grandmother, and Harry—well, he was a bit eccentric, a bit misunderstood, and he did ballet once.

He lead the dance, stepping forward, then right, closed, back, and repeated. Louis followed, not a step out of place.

The lights that passed through the great glass windows were golden, silver, rose, turquoise, and every other shade in the rainbow. They swirled on the marble floor and over the dancers like the waves at sea, and doves flew above them, diving from one beam in the rooftop to another.

At long last, the dancers came to rest. Louis was pulled to Harry’s chest, both of them breathing heavily. Their hands were posed at eye level. Harry looked at them, and Louis’ gaze followed.

Harry’s fingers squeezed Louis’ hand ever so gently, then began to turn upwards, until their palms were pressed together.

Louis was quite a bit shorter than the other man, and his fingers came up to the last knuckle on Harry’s. Harry noticed as well, and smiled just the slightest bit. His fingers moved again, and curled forward through each of Louis’, until he was holding his hand properly. Louis watched. The light rippled over them, swaying and curving around the room, and in the silence that followed—Louis’ own fingers curled forward as well.

Harry looked at his face, at those baby blue eyes and that same look of wonder he’d seen in the kitten. There was such life behind them that in a heartbeat he knew Louis thought in full colour. There was not a drop of darkness in there, nor the pale emptiness that he’d seen in many others. Everything that passed through Louis’ mind was bright. Everything.

Just then, those blue eyes closed, lashes casting shadows down his cheeks, and Louis pulled Harry down. Without any shame or fear—he kissed him.

Harry, although taken aback at first, inhaled deeply at the touch and pulled Louis closer. He wrapped his arms around Louis’ waist, Louis gripped him around the shoulders, and they kissed as if Hell had torn them apart.

It was only when a low rumbling came from the ground that they pulled away. Louis looked at Harry, nose pink and lips slightly puffy, and Harry frowned back. He looked up at the clock face and his eyes widened.

"Oops." He said, grabbing Louis. He pulled him out of the room, into the stairwell, and slammed the door shut.

"Sit down, cover your hands with your ears. Press them tightly."

Louis did as he was told, and Harry followed.

They sat together, backs against the wall, and a deafening bong rang out from above.

It was so loud that the walls rumbled around them. The birds became agitated and Louis buried his face into Harry’s arm like a dog afraid of lightning. Harry invited him closer, when a second bong rang out.

It was so loud that Louis believed for a moment that he’d gone deaf, but each time that he questioned it, another bong echoed through his brain. They didn’t last long, and Louis counted twelve, but they were so loud that when they finally removed their hands from their ears, Louis’ hearing had gone a bit funny.

Harry groaned, massaging his ears and shaking his head, curls bouncing around his face.

"That was unpleasant, to say the least." He said, "I’m very sorry, I lost track of time."

He massaged Louis’ ears, and they felt much better afterwards.

"It’s okay." Louis said, "At least I’m sure of where we are now."

Harry smiled and stood up, opening the door again. Louis crawled into the room on his hands and knees, and stood up on the other side.

"So, now what?"

"The dead built this land," Harry said, walking to one of the glass windows, "They made the skies and the oceans and the grass for us. We’re so high up, we’re sitting right with them. Come and look at what the stars created."

Harry turned a rusty wheel on the wall, and Louis watched in awe as the clock face opened with a deep creak. The lights rippled over the floor as the glass shivered—and a City was uncovered from the other side.

Louis hesitated, Harry nodded at him, and he ran up to the open clock face.

The City was far, far below. The river that had once appeared so big was now just a small blue vein, snaking through the buildings. Orange lights twinkled in the building windows and the streets, glowing as far as the eye could see—and Louis could see for miles. He saw past the City and beyond the fields; he saw small villages in the distance, and hills even further than that. Grey clouds passed below him, and above, stars were twinkling brighter than he’d ever seen.

"Look down there." Harry said, pointing to the left. "Down there somewhere is your house. And way over there is mine."

"It’s so—" Louis said, before putting his face in his hands.

Harry looked at him, and Louis laughed into his hands while simultaneously wiping tears with his sleeve.

"Mn." Harry said, putting a hand on Louis’ waist, "I think so, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Please share & comment if you like this book so more people can discover it! Every bit of interaction is much appreciated, thank you!!


	16. Hit List

"See Victoria’s Station over there?" Harry asked, pointing from the clock face down to a large tower by the river. "Agatha Jordan, a chef, poisoned forty three year old Michael Harland at the _Wetherspoons_ , back in 1983. She slipped a millimetre-long poisoned needle in his fish, and it cut Harland’s tongue, killing him in his own home three hours later. The needle was too small to be found, and no remains were left at the restaurant. Cold case."

"How did they find out who did it?" Louis asked, squinting at the station through all of the city lights.

"All truth comes up, eventually." Harry said. He tapped his nose and smiled at Louis, "You just have to know where to look."

Harry pointed to the opposite side of the river, to a housing estate among many others. "In there lived a six year old child named Paula Rose Beaken. She was victim of a kidnapping in 1942. The whole country was looking for her at one point—the case was massive; everyone knew about it. Rumours came out that gangs had taken and sold her on the black market, or that her uncle had done something to her."

"Did they ever find out the truth?" Louis asked.

Harry smiled briefly and turned to Louis. He tilted his head. "Clive and Georgina Beaken, parents of Paula Rose Beaken. Guilty of murder and consumption of the remains."

Harry looked at Louis and put a hand on his face, stroking his thumb over Louis’ cheek. He turned away to the City and pointed over to a street near Louis’ house.

"Over there is the home of a drunk father who spent twenty years in prison for multiple armed robberies. His wife cheats on him with a dentist who holds illegal blackjack games beneath the Hall of Justice. The couple have a daughter and two sons. The daughter has to look after the entire family and works three jobs, despite being seventeen. Her brothers are fifteen year old twins. The boys grew up around abuse and have become abusive themselves. They’ve sexually assaulted fifteen women and seven men since their thirteenth birthday. They rape adults so the victims stay quiet. No regrets, they’ll do it again."

Harry watched Louis while he spoke, deep green eyes boring their way through Louis’ blue ones. Those eyes dragged Louis’ heart and soul out with each word, and tightened his chest until his legs gave way and he fell on the floor, in tears.

Harry sat by him, and waited. No one in Louis’ home could have guessed why Louis had been so closed-off all day. Louis himself hadn’t known. All that he’d felt was a tormenting discomfort that he’d been able to soothe with food and a bath, but unable to get rid of. The discomfort had been trapped in him all day, and it was the best relief he’d felt in a long time to understand why he was so hurt. The truth, however, of what those twins had done to him was a harsh one.

He put a hand out to Harry and gripped onto the man’s jacket. Harry waited. Louis shifted closer, making his mind up on what he needed, until he gripped Harry with the other hand. Harry put his arms out, Louis crawled up to him, and those arms wrapped around his shoulders.

"We need to go to the police, Louis. Tonight." Harry said. "If you don’t speak up, those twins will hurt more people. You won’t be safe until they’re jailed."

Louis shook his head, gripping Harry and tugging his jacket angrily.

"They won’t arrest you. I promise. You did nothing wrong."

"But I’m an adult and they’re minors! I don’t want to go, I didn’t do anything— I didn’t.. I didn’t like it, I really didn’t!"

Harry hushed Louis, rocking him from side to side. Louis pulled away after a moment, with the saddest face Harry had ever seen, and said, "I can’t go to prison, Lilly will be so sad."

Harry shook his head a little. A smile touched his lips, just the tiniest bit, and he replied, "That’s why we must go. This bad feeling that you’ve felt all day with eat you up if we stay like this, and Lilly wants you to be happy."

* * *

The police station was the only building on the street with lights behind the windows. Harry and Louis stood outside the door, looking at the sign above it, and watching the silhouettes move behind the glass.

"What do I say?" Louis asked, cracking his knuckles, "I don’t want to go, they’re going to arrest me. They’re going to say that I assaulted them—"

"You don’t have to say anything, I’ll do the talking." Harry said, throwing his cigarette in the bin.

"What? No way, you’re not going in there."

"Who are you to tell me where I can and can’t go?"

"But—" Louis said, "You’re wanted for murder."

The corner of Harry’s mouth lifted into a smirk of sorts. He had the expression of someone who’d just thrown a stick of dynamite into a building, and was waiting for the whole thing to blow up; or the face, perhaps, that clearly told the other person that they had absolutely no idea what they were talking about. Either way, it came so unexpectedly that Louis’ mouth dropped open in surprise. Harry laughed, took his hand, and walked into the police station.

The room was like a doctor’s waiting room, with various people sitting on chairs, waiting to be assisted, police walking around in uniforms, and a lady standing behind a desk at the opposite side of the room. Louis’ heart sank. He cracked his knuckles and shook his hands while Harry escorted him to the desk. The atmosphere was a strange one—because whatever Louis had expected to happen, _didn’t_.

Eyes shifted to the tall man with Raspberry Rose curls as he walked through the room with that same smirk on his face as he’d had before. Once more, Harry showed the world that he knew where he stood, at the top of the food chain, and no one even attempted to argue. People stared, parting ways to make a path for him to walk down, and he smiled like he’d devour anyone who’d step a foot out of line.

No one spoke up—the civilians waiting didn’t know the murderer by name or by face—and the police merely watched him from beneath their caps, eyes following the man like prey trying to stay hidden.

Harry reached the desk and put his hand out to the secretary, expecting something to be put in it. The woman watched him carefully,

"Sir. How can I help you?" she said, pushing back the recognition that was so clearly written all over her face.

Her gaze shifted to Louis, then back to Harry when the man spoke.

"Sexual assault. The form, please."

The lady handed him a form on a clipboard to fill in, and waved her hand to a seat. Harry nodded, and lead Louis to where she’d gestured.

"Sit." He said, and Louis sat.

Harry filled in the form while Louis became distracted by everything else in the unfamiliar space, until Harry handed him the paper to fill in the rest. As Louis was writing the rest of his details, a policewoman walked up to them.

"Hello, I’m Officer Ross," she said in a Scottish accent, "I’m here to look over your report with you. Would you like to come with me, please?"

Any other person wouldn’t have noticed the slight tremor in her voice or the way that she clasped her hands together, then unclasped them, to finally clasp them a little tighter. Louis, who had an eye for detail, noticed right away. He also noticed how the murderer with Raspberry rose curls smiled back with such evil yet proud intent. Something made Harry untouchable in that station, and his smile let Louis guess that he knew exactly what that something was.

He took Louis’ hand and followed the police officer to an interview room among a row of many identical ones, with dark grey walls, security footage, and a window facing the corridor. In the middle of the room was a table with four chairs around it. Louis froze at the doorway. Harry tugged him gently, but Louis wouldn’t budge.

"You’re not in trouble, Louis." Harry said.

The police officer, who was putting her pens and documents down on the table turned to the men in the doorway.

"Are you alright, Love?" she said to Louis, "Would you like some water or a biscuit?"

Louis flapped his hands in the sleeves of his shirt and looked up the corridor he’d just walked down. The police officer wandered up to him, confused by the behaviour, and Harry said, "Louis’ autistic. Give us a minute."

Louis appreciated Harry speaking up, as the Officer nodded understandingly and walked off to find some food and water.

Louis looked worryingly at Harry, and Harry smiled. He put his hand out. Louis read the tattoo, hesitated, and placed his own hand on it. Harry lead him into the room and shut the door behind them.

Above them on the wall was a camera that faced the table. Louis watched it. Light glinted on the lens, making it look very much like a single eye watching him back. Harry noticed Louis’ discomfort, and took out a marble from his pocket. He tossed it. The marble hit the camera and nudged it hard enough to point the lens away from Louis.

Harry took Louis’ face and leant towards it. He moved his lips to Louis’ ear, and said, "The police are scary, I know, but they’re here to help. You did nothing wrong, so they’ll help you. All you need to do is to tell the truth, Louis. Always tell the truth."

* * *

Louis was sat on a chair, with Harry to his left, nearest to the window, and the woman opposite them. Out of the window, Louis could see two armed officers. They stood by the opposite wall, looking into the room. Harry had also seen them. Both men watched the armed officers until the ladyopposite spoke.

"So this took place at a house party, Louis. Can you tell me exactly what happened from the beginning of the party, right to the end of the night when you went to bed?"

Louis looked at the lady, then to Harry. Harry looked back at him and patted his knee under the table. "Tell the truth." He said, "They already know you’re innocent."

Louis cracked his knuckles and shook his hands. He looked at the armed officers, then back to Harry, "How would you know?"

"I’ve never sent an innocent person to prison."

Louis bit his fingernails, replaying the sentence a million times in his mind until he’d processed it. He turned to the lady, breathed in heavily, and told the entire story from start to finish. He told her how he’d seen Zayn, how he’d watched Niall get drinks poured into his mouth and how that had given him the nickname 'Footy Licker'. He told the police officer how his popularity had gone up while Niall’s had gone down. He talked about how Harry had arrived, and didn’t mention a gun, but Harry added that detail himself.

After fifteen minutes of talking, when he’d reached the part where he’d got home safely, he stopped. The officer nodded repeatedly and she took the last of her notes, and put her pen down. She checked to see if the tape recorder was still doing its job, then crossed her fingers on the table in front of her.

"Thank you, Louis." She said with a smile. "What’ll happen now is that we’ll do background checks on both of the twins, and you; and we’ll get back to you in a few weeks."

"No, you won’t. What the hell is he supposed to do in the meantime? He goes to school with these kids." Harry said, speaking for the first time in what seemed like forever. He rummaged in his pocket, and Louis saw the armed guards outside tense up. Harry pulled out a stack of paper, rolled and tied with a pink bobble.

"Passport scans, background checks, criminal history, places of residence, and assault victim list. Take it. It’s all there."

Harry stood up. He zipped up his jacket and stretched, much like someone about to leave from a visit at their grandparents’, rather than a murderer who’d decided he was done talking with the police.

In response to the roll of paperwork thrown on the desk, the police officer said, with somewhat of a quivering tone, "Ah, thank you. Like I said, we’ll look into it."

Harry, who had reached to the door, slowly turned back. He walked over to the table and leant on it. The man had a way of turning his anger on and off in a heartbeat. The light in his eyes would fade and darken his irises, his body tense, and his voice would lower to a growl. It was a strange type of anger—one that had been practiced so many times that his behaviour and thoughts were never out of control.

Controlled anger, Louis believed, was the most terrifying emotion a person could have.

The guards saw Harry’s face—those dark eyes fade and his body tense up. They hurried to the window and banged on the glass.

"Harry!!—" Louis called in a panicked voice.

Harry looked at Louis and backed down, stepping away from the policewoman. The officers outside took a step back as well, and Louis relaxed a little.

Harry looked away from Louis to the woman sitting rigid on the chair. His voice was chilling when he said, "If you don’t do something by monday—you know who else will."

Whatever state the police officer was in, she didn’t move as Harry put a hand out to Louis. Louis hesitated, looking at all of the people around him, then ran over to take it.

Harry smiled at him, tucking a tiny brown curl behind Louis’ ear.

"All done." He said, pushing the handle down on the door. He walked out of the room where the police officer was still frozen to the chair, past the two armed guards who he bid a good-evening to, and out of the station without a care in the world.

He sat Louis on the motorbike and took his face in his hands, checking him over.

"You made the right choice to speak up." Harry said, "You’ll be okay from now on, alright? They won’t be back."

Louis nodded. He felt too drained and confused to say anything, and Harry could tell. He kissed the man on the top of the head, and handed him a helmet.


	17. Pisshead

The windows in the second bedroom of the Tomlinson Manor were steamed up behind the cream curtains. While the residents got ready for school or work, the door to the bedroom was still firmly locked. The key in the lock was clinking from the vibrations moving through the floor, and those vibrations came from the rattling of the four poster bed that banged against the wall.

"Mnh—ah!!"

"Good boy. You’re so good—" Harry said into Louis’ ear as he thrusted into him, unforgivingly.

Louis lay on his back, gripping the bedsheets with a shaking hand, and making deep scratch marks on Harry’s arm with the other.

He wasn’t quiet, but he couldn’t possibly be with the way Harry was waking him up. Harry, too, was louder than he’d been previously, but his voice was deep enough to not carry around the room like Louis’ was.

They’d spent the rest of the weekend apart, until Harry had turned up on Sunday evening, with a face like thunder and a large stain of someone else’s blood on his chest. He’d stayed the night, after Louis had invited him to, and had waited the next morning while Louis ignored each of his alarms for school. Louis hadn’t been asleep when Harry had decided to touch him up, but he’d been very sleepy and very aroused, and had kept grabbing onto various parts of Harry’s body under the duvet until Harry couldn’t take it anymore.

Now, Louis whined loudly, his voice being knocked out of his body each time Harry pounded into him. He let the bedsheets slip completely off the bed, and wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck instead, pulling and twisting those Raspberry Rose curls that he liked so much. He arched his back upwards, then down, and finally dug his nails into Harry’s back and finished himself off with a loud moan of the man’s name. Harry kissed him to quieten his voice, and came at the same time with a heavy breath, pushing harder into the kiss.

He sat up, rocking his hips a last few times, before pulling out and rolling onto his back by Louis’ side.

They lay exhausted by each other for a few moments, listening to the chaos of two parents trying to get ready for work, ten maids rushing around, two twin babies crying in the kitchen, and six other siblings all yelling at one another to hurry up. Sound carried far in the house, certainly, but with this much riot, no one could ever hear anyone else, and no one had heard Louis.

A sudden slam on the door made both Louis and Harry jump out of their skin, and Liam’s voice on the other side yelled, "Louis! Bathroom’s free! Hurry up or you’ll be late!"

Louis groaned and rolled onto his stomach, looking at Harry when he leant his head in his arms.

Harry tickled his cheek and stood up to get dressed. Louis looked him up and down, then turned away shyly when Harry looked back.

"You heard him. You’ll be late." Harry said. He put his underwear on, then his trousers, and when Louis still didn’t move, he crouched by the side of the bed so they were face to face. Harry tickled Louis’ chin, and Louis laughed softly, turning his face away once more.

Harry smiled and traced his fingers down Louis’ back, just as they liked it, then down the man’s sides until Louis had no other choice but to get off the bed so he could escape the tickling.

Louis was unbelievably dazed, with rosy pink cheeks, hair flying at all angles, and pupils so dilated that his eyes appeared almost black. He stood by the wall, hands against his chest like T-rex arms, as white liquid trickled down the inside of his thighs.

Harry swallowed and tugged on the collar of his shirt, following the sight. He knelt down and spread Louis’ legs apart.

Goosebumps appeared all over Louis’ skin when Harry licked the liquid up, starting by Louis’ right knee, gliding up to the uppermost part of his thigh, and then the same on the other side. Harry licked his lips, groaned a little and stood up to give Louis a wake-up hug.

He cuddled him, a hand on Louis’ head and the other rubbing circles on his back, and rocked him from side to side a few times. Louis didn’t hug back—just as always—but like always, he leant into the touch.

Another bang on the door, with Liam’s voice shouting, "Louis!—" pulled the two apart, and this time Louis sighed.

He walked in silence over to his pyjamas and put them back on.

"I have to go and get ready for school now. The maids come in here, you should go." He said, stating facts that Harry already knew.

Harry nodded anyway and put his socks and shoes on. He collected his blood-stained jumper from the nearby chair, walked over to the balcony and opened the doors to their widest. Spring sunlight poured into the room, and Louis jumped up and down when it did. He liked the sunshine, always had.

"I’d leave them open if I were you." Harry said, tapping the doorframe as he wandered over to the vines. "Smells of sex in there." He smiled rather smugly, jumped over the edge of the balcony, and disappeared just as a third bang came on the door.

* * *

"Oh my god, Louis. Can you believe it? It’s mad!" Niall said, pushing his bicycle up to where Louis was fastening his own to the bike rail outside the school doors.

"What is?"

"Uh, hello? Have you not read the school page today? You always read it—"

"Oh, no. I had to get up fast."

"Oh. Well. The twins—you know the ones with dyed hair, matching outfits, bla bla bla—kind of creepy like the twins from _The Shining_? They’ve been put in a juvenile detention centre—as in kid prison. They’re in prison. P-r-s-o-n."

"You forgot a letter."

Niall let go of his bike, leaving it clattering on the floor, as he grabbed Louis’ shoulders to shake him. "I’m. Dyslexic. But. Oh. My. God. Can you believe it?!" He said between shakes. "Kids from our school are in prison! Why don’t you care?!"

Louis pulled away and cracked his knuckles. Niall kept on speaking,

"I always knew they’d end up somewhere shifty. I heard that they followed Lucy Price all the way home one day until her dad chased them off. What pervs, can you believe it?!"

Louis smiled uncomfortably. He believed it more than Niall could possibly imagine, and he didn’t want to hear about the twins ever again. He was, however, so deeply relieved that they were jailed because it meant that he wouldn’t be. Not only that, but Harry had been there to catch him, and now that it was over—he didn’t know what he’d have done otherwise.

His eyes shifted away from Niall to someone standing at the top of the steps behind him. Niall turned around as well, and a girl stared back at them. She wasn’t moving, but standing eerily still and completely hypnotised by the two men by the bikes. Louis peered at her. The girl wasn’t transparent, glowing around the edges, or showing any signs of extra limbs or paranormal activity. She was quite average in fact, in all black clothes with curly black hair, black eyeliner, and wide green eyes that continued to observe them.

"Uh—who is that and more importantly, why does she look like she either wants to have sex with you or kill you; possibly both?" Niall asked out of the side of his mouth as they continued to watch each other.

"I don’t know." Louis said back.

The girl neither left nor moved towards them. She just stood at the steps, hands firmly around the strap on her bag, staring.

"Maybe," Niall began, "if we close our eyes, she won’t see us."

"Like ostriches." Louis agreed, closing his eyes.

"Yeah." Niall replied, closing his as well.

They opened them a second later, and a forceful hand slapped Louis on the chest, hard enough to knock him a few feet backwards.

"What the hell are you doing? Open your eyes, stop being creepy." The girl said sharply, standing nose to nose with Louis. "Meet me at the gates after school. Don’t be late."

She slapped him on the chest again—which Louis noticed was supposed to be a pat—and walked into the school ; flipping her middle fingers up to a group of boys who threw a string of classic 'new girl insults' her way.

Louis rubbed his chest, watching her leave.

Niall gasped loudly and turned to Louis, "Uh, hello? Louis? You _do_ know her, you sneaky, _sneaky_ little liar."

Louis shook his head, "I really don’t."

He looked at Niall, so confused that Niall believed him immediately. "You know when you said that she either wants to have sex or to kill me? She definitely wants me dead."

* * *

Louis spent the entire school day biting his nails and searching the faces of each person he walked past in case one of them was the demon girl from earlier that day. He didn’t see her again, and wondered if she actually was a student or just some ex-convict who’d walked into the building from the streets. Either way, he felt watched, whether it was by her or not.

After his last class ended and the students began to rush out of the building, Niall escorted him to the bathrooms in an attempt to hide for a few hours. Niall had grown up with two older brothers, and he was therefore not only skilled in combat, but good at vanishing when he wanted to—such as in instances, perhaps, where he was victim of a prank, or framed for mischief that he didn’t make.

He walked into the disabled cubicle, pushing Louis in first, and locking the door behind them. Louis closed the toilet seat, rather taken aback by how clean the cubicle was compared to the others, and sat down. As Niall surveyed the door and listened out for any kind of noise, Louis took note of the tiny marker pen penises on the wall. He counted fifty-nine all together, along with one rather large and overly-detailed one that had been engraved into the wall years ago, signed by the name 'Zayn'.

A slam on the wall to the next cubicle along made them both cry out in surprise, and the girl they were hiding from jumped over the top of it, landing right by Louis’ side with an angry look of her already angry face.

"What are you pissing about for?" She said aggressively, slapping Louis for the third time. "I said 'outside the gates'."

She had the tone of voice of someone who emphasised each syllable of each word; or one that spoke in bold italics, which was both painful to the ear and rather threatening. The girl pulled Louis up, tugged his ear, and dragged him by the wrist out of the cubicle; leaving Niall behind.

"Oh, so I’m not wanted anymore, is that it? Thanks for using me!"

"You were never wanted in the first place, Pisshead!" the girl yelled back down the corridor, "You being there was coincidence! Piss off, home!"

By the time Louis had been dragged to the gates, leaving his beloved bicycle behind, he was torn between crying, starting a fight, or submitting to the strength of the girl—which was, for a fact, much more than he’d ever had.

Given the options, he chose what he always did which was to do whatever he was told and hope for the best. This choice led him to being strapped in the passenger seat of an identical Jeep Cherokee to the one Harry owned, and driven overt the speed limit down the back alleys of various streets.

The girl by his side didn’t speak, nor did she look or interact with him to the point where even Louis himself wondered if he was there. She just meditated in her angry aura with one hand on the wheel, and the other arm casually leaning on the window, where she brushed her fingers across her bottom lip, much like Harry did. The way she was driving was all but casual, and so was the large bloodstain on her shoulder.

As Louis was observing said stain, he was plunged into the darkness of an underground carpark. The girl leant out the window and paid the parking, revealing another large blood stain on her lower back.

She drove the car into a space on the second to lowest floor. It was so far down, in fact, that half of the lights didn’t work and no other cars were anywhere to be seen, nor had they been on the previous three floors either.

"Get out, Birdbrain." She said, taking her own seatbelt off and getting out of the car. Louis did the same, convinced that he’d found the most unpleasant person on Planet Earth.

The girl grabbed his wrist and walked to the passage that lead cars down to the lowest floor.

Small lights rimmed the sides of the walls and each parking space, but those on the walls and the ceilings were broken. Instead of taking him into the carpark itself, Louis was lead past a high wall of crates, up to a security room that looked over the level.

"Sit." The girl said, pointing to a dusty chair and Louis sat. "Stay."

She began to walk out of the room, when Louis called out to her.

"Uhm—" he said, "Who are you?"

The girl looked around at him with a vicious stare. The dim lights below glinted in her eyes, bringing out the green and making her look far less human and more like some kind of snake—a boa constrictor, perhaps.

"Depends on who you ask." She said, "The question isn’t who I am, it’s who am I to you?"

With that, she left. The door locked on the other side, and Louis watched her run down the steps, past the wall of crates, and through the carpark. Louis’ gaze followed where she was heading, to see the silhouette of a man standing in the middle of the carpark floor, looking suspicious enough for Louis to be glad that he was in the security room, and not down there with them.

As he leant over the dashboard to spy on the people, his hand knocked over a small blackboard with the words 'Oi, Pisshead' and a set of instructions scribbled on it in white chalk.

The instructions were to press various buttons on the dashboard, which he did, leading him to access video footage of the carpark level, and the sound to go with it.

Louis looked at the monitor, to the gun on the screen, in his brother’s hand.


	18. Vulture Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: This chapter contains Violence, blood and death

Liam stood there quite peacefully, twirling the gun around and around his finger, occasionally stopping to spin it the other way. He was staring into the darkest corner of the carpark that Louis couldn’t see, until the girl’s footsteps caught his attention.

He turned, and a small yet warm smile lifted on his face.

"So," he said, putting his gun in his belt. "Diana. We meet again."

Diana marched over, and made him flinch with a hard slap to the chest, which Louis sympathised with. "Missed you, you ugly bastard. Where’s the other one? Is he dead?"

"You’d love that, wouldn’t you?" Zayn’s voice said from the shadows where Liam had been staring a few moments before. He emerged with a half-eaten apple in one hand and a baseball bat in the other. He swung the bat around a few timed before tossing his apple in the air and slamming it into a nearby ceiling light. All four people watched the light sway on its rusty cords, until it fell and shattered on the ground.

Diana turned back to Zayn and sneered, "Nice one. A whole year apart and you still have no aim. God knows how you survived this long, Pisshead." She snatched the gun from Liams’s belt and spun around. As her body turned, she shot the weapon, and a bullet burst through the air, hitting the exit light at the far end of the huge car park. She grabbed Liam’s trousers and shoved the gun back in them with a smug smile. "That’s how you shoot, fuckface."

Zayn leant on his bat like a cane and clicked his tongue. "You’re truly the most unlikeable bastard I’ve ever met. You know I’ve met some pretty damn unlikeable people."

"You don’t mean that." Diana said.

"Don’t I?" Zayn replied, standing up and swinging his bat over his shoulders. "Because each time you come back here, you think you run the place but you’re doing the dirty work just like us. You’re on _River Boys_ ’ turf here, and last time I checked, you weren’t a part of the pack. Don’t mess with me in places you don’t belong or _I’ll_ be the one to bury you."

"Hey, Zee, knock it off." Liam said, rather lazily.

Zayn ignored him, and walked up to Diana who pulled a chef’s knife from her pocket.

" _Back off_." Diana said, flipping the knife in her hand so it faced backwards. Zayn kept walking towards her, hitting the bat in his hand.

"You know, I understand why your brother never asks you to stay. If you were my sister, I’d not bother, either."

He raised the bat, and Louis watched in horror as it came flying towards Diana’s face. As it did so, the knife in the girl’s hand swung as well, and a trembling explosion went off.

The whole carpark shook. The security cameras blurred, the sound crackled, and Louis lept up and ran to the glass to see if anyone was hurt. Far below, he saw Liam and Diana taken aback by what had happened but unharmed. Zayn, however, was squirming on the floor, while a murderer with Raspberry Rose curls stepped on his neck, pointing a smoking gun at his face.

Louis turned to the monitor. A bullet lay by the dented knife and split bat, from the same gun that Louis himself had once held.

A frightening face stared down at Zayn, with deep green eyes lined in black makeup, completely empty of light.

Louis couldn’t pull himself away from them. They watched Zayn, unblinking and wide open. Harry’s entire face was stiff, as if frozen solid, but behind those vulture eyes, he was circling his prey ready for the catch. That brilliant mind of his was working faster than anyone else’s ever could, and that was what chilled Louis to the bone.

The foot pressed further onto Zayn’s neck as Harry spoke.

"If you’re going to run your mouth," he said, slowly, "you need to toughen the fuck up, oryou’re going to die, Zayn. Do you understand?"

He kicked Zayn across the jaw and backed off, letting Liam rush over and help his friend up. Zayn stood by himself, doubled-over, hand out to stop anyone from touching him. All four people watched as he hesitated, before turning on his heel and rushing over to the darkest corner of the carpark. Through the sound recording, Louis heard him throw up.

He re-emerged a few moments later, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, and stood beside Liam and Diana, like no feud had ever happened.

Harry didn’t say a word. He just stood in front of them, clicking the hammer of his gun back and forth, and devouring them alive until they couldn’t even look back at him.

There had always been something wrong with Harry—Louis had seen it quite often. The man would slip into nightmares while wide awake, his mind dragging back memories that Louis couldn’t possibly conjure up for himself. Harry had lived a rough life, that was certain, but Hell was a real place, and he had the devil in his mind.

Louis watched as Harry’s hand raised to his mouth, and he whistled in a high pitch. As he did so, whatever lurked in the shadows stepped out. Louis watched in horror, as a woman came into the light.

She did not walk, but dragged herself along as if each step was her last. Her face was hollow and her skin a greyish colour. Her head was shaved and her face marked in healed wounds. She wore clothes that must have once been so nice, but were now ripped at the edges and stained. For a brief moment, when her face turned to the camera, Louis truly believed he’d seen a dead person, but this lady was very much still alive on the outside. Her soul, however, was not.

She stopped between Harry and the row of three people, and turned to the Leader.

She did not cry, nor laugh, nor react to anything. Unlike the others, she could look Harry in the eye as she felt fear no more. Harry watched her, and nodded.

His nod was read as an order, as Zayn and Liam walked up to the woman and stripped her bare. Once they’d done so, Diana stepped in with a bucket of warm water she’d fetched from the stairwell. She cleansed the body, from the woman’s head, right the way down to her toes. The woman’s skin changed as water touched it, turning lighter when years worth of dirt and grime were washed away. Each touch was so gentle, as if pressure would break her bones, and by the time that Diana stepped back in line, the woman looked just like a Porcelain Doll.

Louis stared. A porcelain doll, she certainly was, but it was not for beauty or delicacy. The woman looked like a clean slate, with no trace that she’d lived a life at all besides the healed wounds all over her body. There was no personality behind her; no memories or feelings or _anything_. She seemed brand new to the world, in the worst way imaginable.

Harry stepped up to her slowly. To Louis’ surprise, the woman responded.

Her mouth opened, and a wheezing breath left her lips before a string of empty words followed.

"May God Bless you.. Harry Styles."

For a brief second, almost too subtle to notice—Harry’s mask dropped at the words, and those vulture eyes broke away from their prey. Louis knew this person, and this one alone. Harry swallowed, and the veil he hid behind fell back over his face.

He looked back up.

He put a hand on the top of the woman’s head, letting out a sharp whistle. Zayn, Liam and Diana moved to stand beside him, rather than in front. When they’d done so, Harry lifted the brass gun, and pressed it to the woman’s forehead. She did not move, did not cry, and did not smile.

Harry shot the gun. Louis screamed and rolled back on the chair, as far away from the monitor as he could. With a hand on his racing heart, he watched the woman collapse on the floor, and a black pool of blood encircle the body.

"Take good care of her." Harry’s voice said through the recording.

Diana, Liam, and Zayn walked over in silence and picked up the body. They carried it to the stairwell, when Harry spoke again,

"Zayn." He said, "Come here. You two, leave."

Liam and Diana glanced at Zayn in concern, then to Harry, before Liam picked up the woman alone this time, and they both walked away, out of Louis’ sight.

Zayn stood where he’d been called, waiting for an order. Harry beckoned him over with the flick of two fingers. He took Zayn’s face in his hands, shushing him when Zayn flinched at the touch. He inspected the man’s jaw and neck. Zayn had dark facial hair, so Louis hadn’t seen the damage made until blood was covering Harry’s fingers when he pulled away.

"You’ll heal." Harry said, "Do you understand why I hit you?"

Zayn looked at the man. There was no hatred in his stare, nor anger as one might expect. There was—just as in Harry’s gaze—the impact of a painful world.

"If you run your mouth to anyone else like you did with my sister, you’re not going to get into a petty cat fight. I’ve told you before." Harry said, taking a cloth from his pocket. He dabbed at the wound, "You’re in a world of bad, _bad_ people. You’re a dead man if you step out of place. Pray that this wound stays long enough for you to remember that."

He inspected the man’s jaw again, putting the cloth away. He stepped back, and nodded to the stairwell. Without another word from either party, Zayn walked away, leaving Harry standing where he’d been when he’d shot the woman, unmoving, with just the wisps of smoke seeping from the end of his gun.

A silence dragged as Harry turned in the direction of the camera, looking down at the gun in his hands. The face he’d had when he’d lived nightmares instead of daydreams, he had again. It was a mix of emotions that Louis couldn’t distinguish, but he could feel everything Harry felt. It was a tug at the strings of his heart and a ball in his throat; it was an empty pit where his stomach was, and the feeling that the hands who’d shot the gun weren’t his own. Louis felt everything just by looking at the man—and the man looked back into the camera, at him.

Harry put his gun away in his coat, eyes on the camera lens. His hand emerged, holding something much smaller, that Louis couldn’t quite see.

The object was placed on the ground, and with one last nod at the camera, Harry said, "For you." before walking into the stairwell, himself.

Louis waited, wondering if someone would come back. He waited for a long, long time. No one returned, and no one would. Quietly, he unlocked the security room, and wandered down the stairs, peering between the gaps in the crates. He stayed against the wall, listening, as he walked up to the object that lay by the bat and the knife. It was a strawberry-cream lollipop—unopened and looking far out of place on the ground where it had been left. Louis picked it up, and in his hand, it looked quite at home.

* * *

It was quite late when Louis returned home. Late enough for his parents to wonder where he’d been, but not enough for them to worry. He’d left the carpark by foot, ignoring the Jeep Cherokee that was still parked there—and which was, in fact, Harry’s car. The outside world was a breath of fresh air after the horrors he’d seen in the dark carpark.

All he’d known about his location was that floors and floors below was _River Boys_ turf, and that was all.

He’d followed the sign posts and got in a taxi among a row of many others. His address and a 'thank you' had been the only words he’d spoken that evening. Through dinner, where Liam’s empty chair was, he’d kept his head down. He’d not replied to his mother who’d asked him if he was sick, nor had he spoken a word when he’d excused himself mid-meal to go and lock himself in his room.

There was nothing he felt like doing, nor anyone he felt like being, and as he twirled the lollipop around in his fingertips, he wished he could vanish completely.

Deep into the night, after Louis had fallen asleep under his duvet, a tap, tap, tap came at the window. Louis stirred, rousing from his sleep, and poked his head out of the blanket. At the window, he saw Diana standing there, in a white dress with her hair tied back. A breeze drifted over the dress, and moonlight shone on her black hair. She looked so ghostly that for a moment of daziness, Louis couldn’t decide if she was real or not. He sat up, then walked over to the double doors, and opened them just enough for him to slip through.

"Hey, Pisshead." She said.

Her voice wasn’t harsh as it had been before, but gentle like that of a close friend. She spoke with a shy smile, and Louis noticed then how much she looked like her brother. That smile was his, so were those eyes, and so were the words that she spoke right after,

"A little dicky bird told me a secret. The King of Crime is in love with you."


	19. Field Ponds

Louis looked Diana up and down, thinking that she suited dresses quite well, which she seemed to take offence to as she flicked him on the nose.

"Ow—" Louis said, putting a hand on his face and giving Diana a look of confusion, "That hurt. Apologise to me."

"What? No, fuck off. Don’t be such a pussy." Diana replied, crossing her arms.

Louis looked her up and down once more. She truly was a horrible person, and not just to him. She’d upset his friends, and Louis didn’t like that one bit.

"Fine. Goodnight, then." He turned on his heel and pulled the balcony door open to go back to bed.

"Hey, Pisshead! You can’t just leave! That’s so rude!" Diana shouted, finishing her sentence in a loud whisper as to not wake anyone up.

"Watch me." Louis said, and locked the door shut behind himself.

He waited behind the closed curtain as Diana thumped on the glass, cursing and threatening him.

"Treat me like a human and maybe then, I’ll come back out. Talk to me like I’m a dog and you can sit outside like one."

There came a series of thumps on the glass, then complete silence. Louis could see Diana’s silhouette through the curtain. She was standing still, considering what he’d said.

"Can you just open the door? It’s getting cold.." She asked,

"All you have to do is say 'sorry'. Grow up and say it."

"Fine, I’m sorry, alright?"

It wasn’t by any means perfect, nor was it genuine, but Louis opened the door nonetheless and stepped back outside.

"Thank you. Swear at me again and I won’t come back out. What do you want?"

Diana scowled and snatched Louis’ hand. She held it with his palm upwards and dropped an orange wristwatch into it.

"My brother told me to return it to you. You forgot it at his place."

Louis closed his hand around the watch and squeezed it, only just realising that he’d not seen it in a while.

"He didn’t know you were at the carpark until it was too late, by the way." Diana said, leaning on the railing. "In fact, I began to get a bit worried when he didn’t notice you—I thought he’d lost his touch, but clearly not. Seems like he really does know everything."

Louis slipped the watch in his pocket, and took the lollipop out instead. He unwrapped it, putting it in his mouth. He watched Diana’s face, studying every movement and piecing together tiny details that he’d missed before. Diana moved just like her brother—in the way she pronounced her words and pushed her hair back, and the way she swayed from one leg to the other. She had the same dimples and him on her cheeks, the same arch in her eyebrows, and familiar eyes as the gateway to a smart mind, but nowhere near as bright as his.

"What do I do now, then?" Louis asked, leaning his back against the glass.

"Whatever you want. What you do next is on you." Diana replied, "But he won’t ever tell you what you saw in the carpark. You’ll be the damn luckiest person in the world if you ever get personal information out of Harry. He’s a stubborn bastard; likes to keep the things that are precious to him locked in a safe. That’s where you are, Birdbrain. He won’t tell you a damn thing for as long as he lives."

Louis listened, and then smiled. "He won’t tell me a thing, but he won’t deny the truth if it’s told back to him."

Diana’s head tilted, and Louis twirled the lollipop in his fingers, "Haven’t you heard?" he said, "He might know everything, but so do I. That’s why he keeps coming back."

* * *

"Pink. Yellow. No, pink. I think pink." Louis said from the top of the fifteen foot brick wall surrounding the school. He and Niall were sitting on it, looking out at the road to all of the people that were coming in and out of the gates, and guessing what colour underwear they were wearing.

"No way does the Headteacher wear pink underpants!" Niall said, swaying his feet back and forth. "Maybe yellow, but not pink!"

"Yeah, he does." Louis argued, taking a sip of his juicebox. "I saw them once."

"When?"

"When he bent over to pick up his car-keys."

"Oh, I’m sorry that happened to you."

"So am I.. Did you see the article on the school page about him?"

Niall shook his head, and Louis turned to him with the excited look he always had on his face when he was about to share some gossip,

"The Headteacher wrote a love poem for his wife that he put in his pocket to fix their crumbling marriage. He went to the library, and the poem fell out. The cleaner picked it up and took it in her trolly where it ended up in the bin, but the wind blew it out. The bin man read it and put it in his pocket to give to his own wife. The bin man’s son found it and recognised the handwriting. He gave it to Jenny Blacksmith who gave it to Tony Ten-Pack who gave it to Olivia MacIntosh who gave it to Piss-Pants Hubert who gave it to the hot English teacher who read it out-loud. When she did, the Headteacher came in and now she thinks that he wrote the poem for her."

"Whoa." Niall said, "Did you see them have sex at breaktime against the science lab window?"

"Oh, yeah." Louis said, "Yeah, I saw that."

"Hey!" A voice shouted from below, "Get down, you’ll fall off!"

"What happened to your face?!" Niall shouted back. Liam and Zayn stood at the bottom of the wall, looking up at them in concern, like one might look at an unidentified aircraft hovering in the sky.

"Got hit by a plane!" Zayn shouted, shielding his eyes from the sun, "How did you get up there?! Can you get down?!"

"We’re good at climbing!" Niall said, leaning his forearms on his lap. "And I hope so, or else you’ll have to bring me take-away! I like a good Chinese! Indian is good, too, but it gives me _really_ _bad bowel movement_! I had it on Saturday, and it was like.. Really, really bad, you know?!"

Both teachers and students turned their heads to judge Niall, and Louis knew that the boy’s popularity status was on the verge of falling even further than the lowest place imaginable.

Zayn, who was certainly not one to judge—based on the questionable and immoral things he’d done—laughed and put his arms out. He waved his hands in a beckoning motion,

"Jump, I’ll catch you!"

Niall, to everyone’s surprise, didn’t hesitate to leap off the wall. He laughed as he fell, and as promised—Zayn caught him. He put the boy safely on the ground, and ruffled his hair,

"Braver than I thought, kid." He said, "I didn’t think you’d do that."

Niall laughed and turned back to Louis who sipped his juicebox and swung his feet back and forth.

"Hey, Louis! You jump, too!"

"I don’t think I can catch someone again—" Zayn said, looking up at Louis.

"Liam!" Louis shouted, to which Liam groaned lazily.

"Come on, then!" His brother shouted back, beckoning Louis down.

Louis pushed his schoolbag and Burberry coat off the wall, which Niall caught, then shuffled to the edge and jumped off. Liam caught him, and placed him safely on the ground just as Zayn had done with Niall.

"Did you actually climb all the way up there?" Zayn asked, lighting a cigarette. Louis and Niall laughed,

"Course not!" Niall said, "The wall’s built against a grassy bank. It’s only a foot tall on the other side!"

Liam slapped them both playfully around the back of the head, "So sweet, yet so unbelievably annoying."

Louis smiled, and put his bag on. "Did mum tell you what I told dad, to tell her, to tell you?"

"You want me to take you and Niall frog fishing at the field ponds."

Louis nodded enthusiastically. He looked very much like a puppy when he was happy, and it was very hard to say 'no' to him when he was in that state.

Liam nodded, "Go get your bikes and put them in the back of the truck, then we’ll dip."

* * *

The frog ponds were found in the fields out of the City, and were a preferred picnic spot for Louis’ family, as Louis was always happier in the peace of the countryside. The ponds were made from the unevenness of the fields, and so they were in large numbers, many sizes, and scattered around the grassy land. In summer, they were dry and empty. In winter, they were muddy. And in spring, they were full of water, surrounded by rich grass, and alive with frogs and tadpoles.

Louis, sat with Niall in the trailer of Liam’s 4X4, tugged his wellies on, and jumped out. His feet sunk into soggy grass, and he flapped his hands excitedly.

Zayn got out of the passenger seat, and jumped down as well. Water bubbled around his feet from the earth, and slipped through the laces of his boots, wetting his socks and feet.

Louis walked up to him, and jumped, splashing water all over Zayn’s legs.

"Oh." He said, "Oops."

"What did you do that for?" Zayn tutted, brushing the drops of mud off.

"I didn’t think it was going to do that." Louis replied, truthfully.

"What did you think jumping in water was going to do?"

Louis smiled innocently and shrugged. He took Zayn’s hand as Liam locked the truck, and dragged him through the field to where Niall was crouching by a pond.

"Look." Niall said, pointing to a clump of frogspawn. "Louis, that one looks like you. Louis Junior."

"I don’t look like a tadpole!" Louis said, crouching down by Niall’s side.

The tadpole was still in its tadpole egg, with a little tadpole face showing through it. Louis could see its little tail and big head, and its black eyes and happy little mouth.

"It looks like its smiling.." He noted, "Look, he’s laughing at you."

Niall pushed Louis who fell into the wet grass, laughing. Louis pushed him back, and they rolled around playfully until they were both soaking wet and covered in bits of vegetation.Zayn stood with Liam, both of them looking very out of place in their dark clothes and cloud of cigarette smoke. They watched Niall and Louis chase each other with clumps of grass is their hands, until the beep of a car horn made them all stop what they were doing.

A Jeep Cherokee pulled up to the side of the road behind Liam’s truck, and Harry got out of it.

He looked quite different to how he usually did—he wore a large burgundy jumper covered in bits of straw and hay, baggy trousers with mud stains on the knees, and black wellies. He walked across the field, cigarette in his mouth. He had no make-up on, and looked very normal yet very strange at the same time. It was the same feeling as, Louis imagined, he’d feel if he saw a goth in pink pyjamas, or a Drag Queen out of drag. Harry was Harry, yet he was someone else.

As he approached, Louis’ eyes dropped to a small ginger kitten trotting behind him. It was so small that, on occasion, only its tail was shown through the grass.

"This field and that one along are Mister Newitt’s." Harry said when he reached them, pointing back to his car were the old farmer was sitting in the passenger seat. "He said you need to leave, you’re damaging the grass. You can come back after tadpole season."

Harry nodded at them, and turned away. He spoke as if he knew no one there, but his eyes lingered on Louis just a fraction of a second too long for it to be true.

"Come, cat." Harry said to the kitten. He walked a few feet, then stopped and turned back when the kitten didn’t follow. Everyone looked at the animal, who sat in the grass, watching Harry and flicking its tail back and forth.

"What?" Harry said to it, ignoring everyone else. "You had breakfast, you don’t need frogs."

Still, the kitten sat, purring. Its ears rotated, and its head followed, looking at Louis. It meowed and trotted over to him. Louis smiled, jumped up and down and picked the kitten up.

"Oh, hello!" he said, "You’re so cute! What’s its name?"

Harry seemed rather alarmed that Louis had spoken to him, and didn’t reply for a moment before saying, "She doesn’t have one."

"Can I name her?"

"Louis—" Liam said,

"Can I call her Olivia?"

"Louis, put the cat down."Liam said again, harsher than before.

Louis looked at Liam, wondering what the matter was, and took the cat over to Harry. He held it out, and Harry took it. The man’s eyes darted from the orange wristwatch to Louis’ face. He seemed unsure of himself, somehow.

Harry didn’t speak again, but nodded a farewell. All four men watched him walk away, kitten in his left hand, and get back in the car. The Jeep Cherokee drove down the road, rattling over the potholes, and out of sight.

"What a buzzkill." Niall said, holding a large brown toad in his hands. He put the animal on a rock and brushed the grass off his dungarees. "Did any of you notice how that shifty that guy looked? Imagine if he’s, like, a mass murderer or something, hiding out here in a village with a cute little kitten. Wouldn’t that be funny?"

Zayn looked at Niall. His hand raised and brushed lightly over the plaster on his cheek, "What a ridiculous thing to say."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> Thank you!! and see you next chapter


	20. Special Interest

The small cottage among a cluster of many others had light behind the windows. It was quiet in there, besides the crackling of a fire in the fireplace, the purr of a ginger kitten being stroked, the pages of a book turning occasionally, and the slow _drip, drip, drip_ of blood pattering onto the tiles.

The blood came from a carving knife, hanging on the wall among a row of many others. All were dented and worn from years of use, and none had touched a single piece of food from the point of their creation.

The murderer with Raspberry Rose curls sat in the living room, feet up on the coffee table and kitten in his lap. He drank from a glass of crimson wine, and turned the pages to _The Importance of being Ernest_ as if he hadn’t read it a thousand times already. In his childhood, he’d spend hours in the little cushion fort he’d built in his bedroom, looking through novel after novel until his mother couldn’t find a single book anywhere that her son hadn’t read.

As Harry was about to turn the page, a knock rattled the front door. He waited, unmoving. There was a rustling outside, quiet enough for Harry to barely hear, but loud enough for it to make him sit up and move the cat from his lap to the chair. He walked to the living room doorway, watching the front door carefully. He flipped the knife in his hand so that it faced backwards.

The rustle came again, then another knock, much quieter than the last.

Harry walked up to the door, and heard a sneeze come from the other side.

He sighed and opened the door, looking down at Louis who was sitting on his bike—rosy cheeks, hair flying everywhere—relieved that his long journey hadn’t been for nothing.

Harry put the knife on the nearest tabletop. He leant out of the doorway, scanning the road, then looked down to the bicycle,

"Don’t tell me you came all of this way on that?"

"I came here on the way home from picking up some video games. Well, it’s not really on the way home. Also, I told my family that I’m staying at a friend’s house."

Harry hummed, "You’ve got stamina; it’s not the first time I’ve noticed. You better come in."

Louis got off his bike and leant it against the wall. He followed Harry into the living room, watching him hang the knife back up and wondering whose blood was on the dripping one. He was gestured over to the sofa, which he sat on, and then clapped his hands excitedly when the kitten emerged from behind it. The cat crawled over Louis’ shoulders, down his knitted jumper, and into his lap.

"Olivia!" Louis shouted,, rocking back and forth so much that the sofa creaked, "Aren’t you lovely! Isn’t she lovely?!"

Harry, who was making tea in the corner, nodded. He still seemed so very unsure of himself, and that made Louis unsure as well.

"Your sister—" Louis said, cracking his knuckles, "She’s very rude."

"Mn. I know. It’s not her fault."

"Why is she rude? You’re not rude."

"She didn’t learn from me; she learnt that language from the other one who lived with us. The boy. Diana and I don’t see each other that often."

"Oh.." Louis said, sitting cross-legged on the sofa. "Why not?"

"She’s a runaway. Likes to go places for months on end. Each time I see her, I wonder if it’s the last."

"That’s sad."

Harry looked at Louis, dropping the teabag in the cup, "That’s an outcome. Not everyone gets a happy ending."

"Oh.. Well, you have Olivia. That’s a little happiness." Louis said, lifting the kitten up to his face and smiling. With such big blue eyes, they truly did look like two peas in a pod.

Harry put the cups of tea on the table and took the kitten, holding it in one hand.

"The cat’s not mine."

"She lives your house."

"I know."

"And you feed her."

"Yes."

And she follows you everywhere."

"Yes."

"So she’s your cat."

"No! She’ll leave, you’ll see. She’ll be out that door as soon as she’s an adult, and will never come back."

Louis looked at Harry, and Harry looked at the cat; but the animal wasn’t who he was thinking about.

"I don’t think she’ll want to leave." Louis said, "Because animals aren’t cruel like people are. It’s love that makes her faithful."

Harry gazed at the cat in his hand dismissively, then pulled her to his chest. He walked over to the armchair opposite Louis and sat in it.

"And you are here because—?"

"I’m faithful."

The hand that was ticking the kitten’s ears stopped for a moment, as if Harry’s brain had forgotten how to function, until he resumed what he was doing to say,

"I thought you came as a farewell."

Louis tilted his head, "Would you prefer if I had?"

He leant his head on the sofa and cracked his knuckles, "I knew you were a murderer long before I met you. I also—as you know—really like criminology. Your story is my super special interest. I can’t let you go."

"Hm." Harry said, with a small smile. "I won’t tell you anything, no matter how long you stay."

"Diana said you wouldn’t." Louis replied, "But then, I’m not asking you any questions."

"True." Harry said, taking a cup of tea from the table and sipping it. "You’ve changed. You used to be full of them."

Louis uncrossed his legs and curled up on the sofa, resting his head on a tartan pillow. "I’ve not really changed." He said, "I just realised that you don’t need to tell me anything, because I like games and being entertained. I’ll fit the pieces together, eventually."

Harry watched Louis in silence, the clogs in his mind churning as they always did. Whatever thoughts he had made his eyes glisten with interest, and Louis knew then that as much as he liked games—Harry liked them more.

The murderer with Raspberry Rose curls stood up, placing the kitten in the whicker basket on top of the television. He held Louis’ arm and sat him up; kneeling in front of him. Harry leant his forearms on Louis’ thighs and peered up curiously.

A particular curl drooping over his forehead caught Louis’ attention, so he poked it, pushing it upwards so he could put his finger inside it. He scrunched the curl by bending his finger, and laughed when it bounced back into shape.

"Curly hair is so funny—" He said, mesmerised by the head of bright hair. He put his hands on Harry’s head and ruffled the curls. When he did, Harry took his wrists and pulled them away.

"Hey. Hey, stop. You’ll disrupt the curl pattern. Stim with them if you want to, but be gentle."

Louis pouted and sat on his own hands miserably. Harry smiled. He touched Louis’ nape and tugged at the tiny brown ringlets there.

"Your hair curls at the tips… So soft..."

He then inhaled deeply, overwhelmed by his own feelings. His hand pressed harshly on Louis’ nape, and he stood up. Louis was pulled to his feet and into a tight hug.

The pressure on his body was far more unforgiving than it had ever been; because Harry believed, with all of his heart, that he’d lost Louis forever in that carpark; yet here Louis was, and he was so unapologetically himself.

As Harry hugged Louis, he scooped him up, and Louis yelped in surprise.

Harry hushed a quiet, "You’re okay" in his ear, before carrying him out of the room and half way up the stairs, letting him down so he could be lead the rest of the way.

Louis found himself in the bedroom again, being pushed onto the mattress as Harry climbed over him. The man didn’t hesitate to pull his own shirt off, revealing the artwork all over his upper body, then desperately kiss Louis on the lips, his hands feeling Louis’ body in places that felt ever so good. As Louis kissed back, arms above his head, he lifted his legs up in invitation.

Harry unfastened Louis’ trousers, and shoved a hand down them, cupping and rubbing Louis until what he touched grew harder. Louis whimpered eagerly, hands above his head as he wasn’t in the mindset to understand what to do with them. Harry moaned into his mouth, frustrated, and sat up. He pulled Louis’ shoes and socks off, throwing them across the room, then his trousers and underwear. He leant back over Louis to kiss him again, pushing his legs up just like before.

The man’s hand drifted down to a pink hole that was waiting for something to happen—any kind of touch, and that touch was given. When Harry’s fingers ghosted over it, the hole twitched and Louis whimpered. Harry moaned back, deep in his throat, and moved down the bed. He held Louis’ legs up with both hands, and licked the hole.

Louis let out a moan, throwing his head back on the mattress and arching his back upwards. He squirmed as Harry licked him, held firmly in place by the strong hands on his thighs. There was nothing he could do to either lean into the touch or move away, and it aroused him even more.

Harry’s tongue licked in circles around the rim, occasionally dipping in and back out again. He licked upwards, coating Louis’ parts in saliva, all the way to his leaking tip. Louis’ leg ached when Harry let go to fondle him, but it was a feeling that he forgot about in a second when a kiss touched his tip, then a pair of lips moving down the length of it.

Louis’ arms finally reacted from where they’d been lying by his head, and grabbed onto Harry’s hair, pushing him further down. He received a deep groan in response, and Harry’s hand coming up to stroke his arm affectionately. Louis whimpered and tugged on Harry’s hair, calling him.

Harry looked up, glistening lips where saliva and semen melted. Louis tugged his hair again in desperation, and Harry nodded. He stood up, pulled his own clothes off, and took Louis by the armpits to swing him around and onto his lap at the end on the bed so they were facing each other.

Louis looked down between them, pushing his jumper to his stomach so he could see. A large drop of white leaked from Harry’s tip when it twitched, and Louis gripped his jumper in anticipation.

He sat up on his knees, then sat back down on Harry’s lap, bouncing up and down a few times and whining impatiently. Harry stopped touching himself, with a cruel smile, and took Louis’ waist.

His hands wrapped around it almost completely—and had Louis not been wearing a shirt and knitted jumper—a small squeeze would have joined those fingertips together. Harry lifted the jumper, and put his hands beneath, gliding them up Louis’ chest to his nipples. They were hard, and Louis shivered at the touch, the most sensitive parts of him twitching in arousal. Harry rubbed his thumbs over his nipples, moaning Louis’ name like it was the most treasured word he’d ever spoken.

Louis began to cry, then, from being teased so relentlessly, and the thrill of how it felt. His mind didn’t work in a way where he could touch himself at the same time as feeling so good, so his hands stayed up by his face, and his hips flicked forwards, his body leaking semen, and Harry’s thumbs caressing his nipples beneath his clothes.

Harry, after seeing the tears, took his own parts in his hand and guided Louis to them. Louis, on his knees, bounced up and down in excitement, whining and burying his face in his sleeves at the same time.

"There’s no lubricant. Slow, Louis." Harry murmured quietly, pushing two fingers in Louis’ hole to make sure it was as ready as needed be. It was dripping wet, clenching down on the touch, and leaving translucent stickiness on Harry’s fingers. Harry put those fingers in Louis’ mouth, and Louis sucked and licked them eagerly. He was guided forward, where Harry placed him, and then onto the tip. Louis wanted to sit down immediately, Harry could feel him buzzing for it, but his own hand was around the shaft so Louis couldn’t go faster than his hand would move down. He was well-aware that Louis couldn’t understand how going too fast would hurt him this time around, and as much as he wanted to move his hand and let Louis fall down—in his mind, Louis’ needs came first.

Louis whined in pleasure as he was slowly stretched open to satisfaction, and Harry groaned at how hot Louis’ body was around him. Once he was certain that Louis wasn’t hurt, he moved his hand away, and Louis slipped down completely.

Louis’ hips flicked back and forth in excitement, as he flapped his hands, shaking his head, until he could ground himself again. He lifted the jumper, and revealed a bulge at the base of his stomach where Harry’s parts were inside of him.

There was a pause for breath, where they both stared at the sight; until their brains caught up and that sight turned them feral. Harry yanked Louis’ jumper off, throwing it on the floor, and tugged the man’s torso to his face where he could lick and nip at his chest. Louis raised and lowered his hips as Harry’s parts moved in and out of him, stretching him open and filling him just how he needed.

They came to a high when Louis leant back, resting his hands on Harry’s thighs and moving up and down faster than he did before. He whined loudly, not holding a single thing back, and it sent Harry over the edge inside of him. The hot semen burnt Louis’ insides and made him finish as well, white liquid splattering over his stomach. When he was about to collapse, Harry pulled him forward. Their bodies collided together and Harry fell back onto the bed, pulling out of Louis and letting the warm semen pour from his hole onto the sheets.

They lay there like that, panting in a hot sticky mess, until their eyes closed and they both fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Harry and Louis were woken up in the early hours of the morning when the sun rising over the fields shone through the open window. Olivia had wandered up the stairs, purring and meowing for her breakfast, and woke them both up when she leapt on Louis’ back as he slept in the same place as he’d been all night—safely on Harry’s chest. Both men opened their eyes at the same time, flinching with a groan when the springtime sun hit them right in the face, and Louis rolled off Harry to lie by his side in the shade.

"Ah—" he said, sitting up and looking down at the dried stains all over his torso and legs. "Gross."

The kitten had wandered over to the windowsill and sat on the ledge, crying for her breakfast as Harry sat up to check Louis over as well. The sight was indeed rather gross.

"We need a bath." He said, shuffling to the end of the bed. The kitten leapt off the windowsill to move in and out of Harry’s ankles, unaware that she could be stepped on at any moment. Harry scooped her up and shut her out of the room, ignoring her cries as he wrapped a towel around his waist.

"No—let her in! You made her cry." Louis said, sadly.

"She’ll survive. I’ll feed her while the bath is running." Harry replied, handing a tartan-print dressing gown to Louis.

Louis put it on, flapping the sleeves that were far too long for him, before hugging himself in it.

Harry smiled fondly, eyes trailing from Louis’ face to his feet and back again. He put his hand out, and Louis took it. The little ginger kitten purred happily when the door was opened, running in between the men’s anklest, until Louis lifted her up to rub his face in her fur.

"Is it nice and soft?" Harry asked, tickling Louis’ cheek. Louis nodded, burying his face in the kitten’s neck.

Harry ruffled the man’s hair, then tickled the cat behind the ears and said, "She’s hungry. You should put her down or she’ll eat you."

Louis did so, and Harry took him to the bathroom, carefully avoiding the tiny kitten that constantly got under his feet. He run the bath and Louis got in it while Harry left to feed the animal. He came back a few moments later, putting his hand in the water to check the temperature.

"Come." Louis said, pulling his knees up to his chest to make room. Harry smiled and pulled his towel away. He got in the bath and crossed his legs, his knees sticking out of the bubbly water.

Louis felt a rush of happiness from the situation, and rocked back and forth, slapping the water until it splashed over the side and onto the tiles.

"Messy." Harry said, putting shampoo in his hair. Louis laughed, shook his whole body like a wet dog might do, and felt much calmer. He drummed his fingers on the water surface, watching the shampoo bubble. He was certain by now that Harry’s favourite part of himself was his hair, as he took great pride in keeping it healthy and shiny at all times.

"Eh, who’s that?" Louis asked, his gaze trailing over to the top of the laundry basket where a teddy bear sat. It was brown with worn down fur, a little green jacket and a missing ear. The old bear seemed well loved, for certain.

"Just a bear. I used to take him everywhere with me. He doesn’t have a name."

"What do you mean 'he doesn’t have a name'? Why not?"

"He never told me it."

Louis didn’t know how to respond to such a statement, so he changed the subject by saying, "Who’s your celebrity cru—"

"Kylie Minogue."

"Wah—you answered really fast.. I thought you didn’t like women."

Harry took the shower-head and turned it on, rinsing his hair when he said, "I don’t. I’m a _man-lover_ with the exception of Kylie Minogue. I have a tattoo of her on my hip."

He put the shower-head down, and sat up on his knees, revealing a flawless replica of Kylie Minogue’s face just above his right hipbone with her name beneath it. Louis looked to the other hip, where a similar portrait of Kurt Cobain was.

"And him? Is he your celebrity crush?"

Harry hummed in agreement and sat down to massage conditioner through the lavender tips of his hair. "Who’s yours?"

"I like Steve Erwin."

Harry looked at Louis with a slight frown, "As in the Crocodile Hunter?"

Louis nodded enthusiastically. He didn’t seem to understand that it was a strange choice, but then Harry realised that it had no reason of being a strange choice in the first place.

"Are you really a poet?" Louis asked, fixated on how Harry’s hair curled, even when wet.

"Mn." Harry nodded, examining his hair carefully for split ends, "Don’t say what you’re about to say."

"You don’t know what I’m about to say."

"' _Can you recite a poem to me?_ ' is what you’re about to say."

"Oh. Well, can you?"

Harry squeezed his hair out and leant back in the bath, stretching his legs so they went either side of Louis.  
He tilted his head, "No. They’re precious to me."

Louis’ face saddened immensely, which threw Harry over, so he inhaled loudly and raised an eyebrow.

"Convince me better, and I’ll consider it."

Louis blinked at Harry for a moment, trying to figure out if there was some ulterior motive behind what he’d said, but he couldn’t tell. There was definitely something he was supposed to pick up on, but he didn’t know what.

"I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do." He said, and Harry smiled.

"What you do is up to you. Convince me in any way you’d like."

Louis brushed his hands through the water back and forth, still trying to pick up on what he knew he’d not understood. After a moment, he touched Harry’s leg, and leant over to him. He kissed Harry on the lips—softly, slowly, then pulled away an inch, before moving back to where he was.

Harry watched him, those glistening eyes full of thoughts. Quietly, he opened his mouth and spoke.

"Hush, said the rain, this isn’t Wonderland,

cries to the wind aren’t heard.

A fall from Heaven digs wounds deep,

but Hell doesn’t take a word.

Have you read, perhaps, the tale of the boy?

The one with the blank face stare?

Deep in the night, when all are asleep,

he’s stirring in his lair.

Up, up, the stairs he climbs

with a limp from a knife to the thigh.

For hours, outside the door, he lurks

humming a lullaby.

Hush, breathes the boy, this is Wonderland,

cries to mummy aren’t heard.

A touch of Heaven digs wounds deep,

so I never said a word."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyooo! I hope you liked that chapter! Let me know what you think!
> 
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